


Deaf Heaven and Sullen Earth

by scatteringmyashes



Series: Athos/D'Artagnan AU Fest [6]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim Fusion, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2016-07-19
Packaged: 2018-07-11 13:07:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 25,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7053043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scatteringmyashes/pseuds/scatteringmyashes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They came from the deep. Monsters that could only be defeated by machines. But sometimes the biggest enemy is in your head. Shame that isn't private anymore.</p><p>Or: a Pacific Rim AU where most everything is explained nicely so you don't need to have seen the movie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Another multi-chaptered fic, I know. So much for all of these being oneshots, right? But I'm almost done with the second chapter and it probably won't be anymore than three so you won't have to wait too long. 
> 
> As per usual, if you have any prompts/requests that you want me to check out, send me a message here or PM me on tumblr [here!](http://thepoetofjustice.tumblr.com/ask)

They came from the sea. The kaiju, looming higher than a mountain and broader than a battleship. Unstoppable without countless loss of life, the devastation deeper than the barren wasteland that was created from the nuclear warheads that the world governments fired. No one was sure how to stop them, if they could even be stopped, until a scientist came up with the idea that would change the war. 

Jaegers, machines as tall as skyscrapers, equipped with technology and weapons in every inch and made for the sole purpose of fighting the kaiju. They had one weakness: they had to be piloted by two people and those two people had to be drift compatible. Few people could meet the strict regulations that the Pan-Pacific Defense Corps placed on pilots and even fewer could drift together. But when a duo could?

Then they became stars.

Olivier and Anne were the power couple of all the Canadian pilots. There was no one who could fight better and no one who looked better. Their jaeger, Milady de Winter, was one of the first mark III machines to ever be built and she had top of the line technology and weaponry that turned kaiju into toast. Not quite literally; the guns tended to blast the monsters into bits rather than cook them. 

But that hardly mattered. What mattered was that they fought and they won and they were in love. Olivier asked Anne to marry him during an interview, one cloudy day in 2018. On national television, on a broadcast that would be put online and break world records, he got down on one knee and asked if she would marry him. What surprised people was not the engagement itself. That was a given.

What surprised people was the fact that they hadn’t already been married. 

The kaiju still came, even as preparations began for a wedding. The first among two pilots in recorded P.P.D.C history. Olivier was more than a little smug that he would be known for that as well as being part of the first piloting duo to ever kill a category IV kaiju. He was damn good at his job and Anne was damn good at hers. Together they made an even better partnership. 

Together they made all sorts of history. And together, Olivier was sure, they would see out the end of the war or retire back to their home in Quebec. Either way their story would end happily and they would see a conclusion of peace, not violence and bloodshed. It didn’t matter that the mortality rate among pilots was rising, not to Olivier. He had never had the odds in his favor and he had never cared. 

He was not about to start now.

 

 

 

“Kaiju alert, kaiju alert,” the mechanical female voice echoed throughout the shatterdome. Olivier sat straight up and shook his wife’s arm, rousing her from her dreams. She blinked past sleep and looked at him, confused until the alarm sounded once more. “Kaiju alert, kaiju alert.”

Then Anne was all business, sliding out of bed and beginning to pull on her uniform. Olivier did the same. They didn’t need to talk. This was their routine, regardless of whether it was one in the morning or one in the afternoon. Nothing changed, only the codename of the monster they were going to kill.

“What’s the situation?” Anne asked as they strode into the drivesuit room, the technicians swarming over them to get them locked into their suits and ready to drop. “Is Red Musket ready?” 

The mark II jaeger had been badly damaged in the last fight, some time ago, and one of the pilots had yet to recover from his injuries. The P.P.D.C had looked for a replacement but nothing had come up and their LOCCENT operator told them as much. 

“Pity,” Anne replied, though she didn’t sound too disappointed. “It looks like we’ll have to do this ourselves,” she told her husband. 

Olivier nodded and stepped into the conn-pod. This was the head of Milady de Winter, in every sense of the word. The pilots strapped in and prepared to fight, able to see from monitors and control what weapons were fired at what time. Olivier stood on the right side and let his wife take the dominant left one. It didn’t matter to him; he trusted her with his life and she the same. There was really no difference in side, only what part of the jaeger one controlled. To Olivier, anyone who made a fuss was pretentious and needed to set their priorities straight. 

“The kaiju is a CAT III, simple stuff, codename Spaniard,” Thomas, their LOCCENT operator and the man who kept them in contact with the shatterdome while they were fighting, informed them. “Hope you two slept well and weren’t up all night enjoy yourselves,” he added in the way that only little brothers could. Olivier rolled his eyes as his suit locked in place. Even if Thomas couldn’t see, they knew each other well enough to practically sense such a reaction.

“I highly doubt that’s an appropriate thought to be having about your older brother and his wife,” Olivier replied. Anne chuckled on her side, rolling her shoulders and getting comfortable. “Right side ready.” 

“Left side ready,” Anne echoed, shooting her husband a look. The two shared a soft smile as the conn-pod dropped into place. They barely even noticed the shaking or heard the sound of the head of Milady de Winter locking into the body of the jaeger. 

“All right. Neural handshake engaging in ten… nine… eight… seven…” Thomas began the countdown. 

The drift, which was the term for the place where pilots exchanged memories and experiences, required a connection between brains. If people couldn’t sync properly, if the neural handshake failed, then they couldn’t drift. And if they couldn’t drift, they couldn’t be pilots. It was simple, brutally so, and resulted in the disqualification of thousands of otherwise perfectly good pilots. Becoming a ranger, becoming one of the prized few who could control a jaeger? That was the dream for hundreds of thousands of children and adults worldwide, and for most it would remain just that.

But not for Olivier. 

“Neural handshake engaged.” Regardless of the number of times he had drifted with Anne, each time was just a little bit different. There were new memories, shared moments from a different perspective or sometimes events that had never happened to him. And there were always the old ones seen in a new light. Olivier picked up on details that had never occurred to him before, felt emotions that had been foreign until then. It was such a strange sensation to think that he knew Anne so well, only to be reminded that he didn’t know her at all.

Only in the drift, there were no secrets. There were no boundaries. Everything was out and in the open and everything was ok. Olivier loved it, relished in the comfort it brought him. He might be able to fight for his life and the protection of North America, but drifting with Anne made it worth it.

“Holding steady at one hundred percent. Milady de Winter, you are cleared to go. Kick some kaiju ass,” Thomas told them with no small amount of glee. Olivier and Anne shared a laugh as their jaeger was released into the ocean, leaving them to wade through it and find the monster they had been sent to kill. Outside, a storm raged, battering down against the steel and iron of the shatterdome and threatening to rip apart anything in its way. Well, almost anything.

Humans had to run from a hurricane. In a jaeger, one could face it head on and win. 

“Milady de Winter, your orders are to hold the line hundred miles out. Anchorage is sending backup, but let’s try to have this cleaned up before we need it, eh?” Thomas added as they reached their goal. 

“Understood,” Anne replied. “We can’t see a thing out here. Switching to instruments.” The display immediately shifted. Instead of trying to peer out the reinforced plexiglass that made out the visor, a digital display appeared, not unlike a radar mixed with an x-ray machine. The result was that everything was a bit fuzzy, the waves and the wind not helping, but at least they could see if something was a rock shaped like a kaiju or a kaiju shaped like a rock.

This was always the worst part to Olivier, the waiting. Not knowing where the kaiju was, unable to launch right into a fight. Having to stand there, feeling helpless despite the facts, and knowing that the cards were all in the kaiju’s clawed hands. The monsters never ignored the jaegers, though. They always attacked, trying to fight against the machines before moving on to the cities. 

It was a blessing and a curse; if the jaeger or jaegers fell, then the land would be defenseless until one of the other shatterdomes was able to send help. If the kaiju fell, though, then it would be another day for the people on the coast to rest.

Something moved in the ocean. Olivier wasn’t certain, not at first, but then there was another flicker on screen and his doubts were dissipated. “It’s on our six o’clock,” he hissed. “Switch back to visuals.” The monitor went back to normal right in time for Spaniard to launch itself out of the water and attack.

Milady de Winter brought her arms up just in time, catching the first tentacle as it lashed around the metal, squeezing with all its strength. Olivier feared that the jaeger would fail, that this would really be its last fight, but the titanium alloy held up under the pressure. Then more tentacles came out of the water before Milady de Winter’s pilots could react and suddenly they were pinned by eight of the things.

Spaniard pulled itself out of the water and Olivier wasn’t certain, but he could tell it was shaped like a giant squid. He could also see its pointed beak aimed right at the chest of Milady de Winter. 

Anne recovered first. “Fire the plasma cannons!” She screamed. That broke Olivier out of his trance and he stared at her, eyes wide, even as the jaeger warmed up in preparation. “LOCCENT, requesting backup immediately. Tell Anchorage to hurry up,” she added, as if that wasn’t a given.

As if they weren’t out of their league with this supposedly normal and simple kaiju. 

“Plasma cannons ready,” Milady de Winter’s AI told them in a calm voice. 

“Fire!” The two pilots shouted, their bodies jerking with effort as the entire jaeger shook. “Empty the clip, empty the clip,” Olivier ordered, sweat dripping down his forehead and blinding him. When they got back, someone was going to check the cooling system. It was not supposed to be this hot. It was never this hot.

Spaniard let out a cry as its side was blasted by the bursts of energy, its acidic blood spilling into the ocean and eating away at Milady de Winter’s plating. With a grunt, the pilots forced the kaiju away from them, letting it sink into the sea and get gobbled up by the waves. There was a moment of quiet and then cheering, faint but clearly audible, came through the coms.

“Congrats, Milady de Winter, on your eighth confirmed kill.” Thomas let out a sigh of relief. “Someone tell Anchorage to go back to sleep. We got this one done.” Anne and Olivier shared a look and, their brains connected, needed to say nothing. 

“I love you,” she told him anyway. 

“I love you too,” he replied not a moment later. 

They turned away from the remains of the kaiju. It was still a long walk back to the shatterdome, back to safety and sleep, and there was no point in dwelling out in open sea. Their jaeger was tough as nails but it had taken enough damage that remaining anywhere that wasn’t a bay was a bad idea. With that in mind, they started to move. One foot in front of the other, over and over again, brains sharing information and carrying on a silent conversation as LOCCENT arranged for cleanup crews and the like.

Milady de Winter got maybe five miles away before the beeping began. It happened once and neither Olivier nor Anne noticed. Their jaeger had a number of alerts going off and they relied on LOCCENT and the AI to bring to their attention anything that needed their immediate concern. But then it happened again, a second later, and both of them realized something was off.

“What’s that sound?” Olivier asked LOCCENT. “Thomas, what’s going on?” There was a moment of frantic typing and then a horrified gasp.

“Milady, the kaiju is still alive. I repeat, the kaiju is still alive and it’s moving -- Milady turn around now!” On instinct, the jaeger pilots reacted in time to bring up their arms once again, this time blocking Spaniard’s beak with an arm. 

The kaiju, enraged and half dead, tore at the metal and Olivier screamed as he lost feeling. That limb lost, the jaeger’s controls switched automatically to compensate and Olivier scrambled to help his wife, his love, his second half to protect them. Someone shouted at the AI to prepare the plasma cannon, but the only one with any rounds left was the disabled arm. Together they tried to shake the kaiju off, but even with only half its tentacles it was more than strong enough to keep holding on. 

Anne turned to Olivier, frantic, pale face illuminated by the flashes on the holographic screens and the sparks flying around the pod. “Olivier, listen to me, you need to get back to LOCCENT, back to the shatterdome. You need to stay alive.” He shook his head in confusion even as the jaeger tipped over, resistance gone in its left side, sagging towards the kaiju to crush it.

“What are you doing? Anne? Anne!” Olivier could make out the sounds of LOCCENT, of Thomas screaming. The AI warned them that the drift was breaking up, their neural handshake was dropping to dangerously low levels, but all Olivier could see was the hull of the jaeger break under the pressure of the kaiju’s beak. 

All Olivier could see was a tentacle slipping inside, grabbing Anne, and pulling her out of the conn-pod without any resistance. 

Athos woke up in a cold sweat. 

He took a shaky gulp of air and glanced at the clock. It was early, too early to be awake. The mess wouldn’t be open for another few hours and it wasn’t like he had anyone to talk to about these dreams. Athos had gone to therapy for the two sessions the P.P.D.C had required. It hadn’t stuck.

“Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising…” He recited, muttering the words under his breath as he moved. 

He made his way to the kwoon out of instinct rather than any actual desire to train or otherwise exercise. Porthos was already there, punching away as if his life depended on it. Which it sort of did, though no one was quick to point that out. 

But besides the ranger and a few other recruits, the kwoon was empty and for that Athos was thankful. He wasn’t too surprised; it was three in the morning and not many people suffered from nightmares quite as severe as he did. He was even more thankful that Porthos saw him, nodded, and then turned back to the punching bag. The pilot for Raging Bull, a mark IV jaeger with a rather distinct attack pattern, was good friends with Athos and knew better than to try to engage him after a nightmare. 

No, after a harrowing night of remembering the death of his wife and his own near-death, all Athos wanted was a drink. Instead he threw himself into training. 

Tonight, or that morning depending on how one wanted to view it, Athos decided to focus on his speed and agility. He wasn’t at the peak of his physical ability, not anymore, but he wasn’t a slouch by anyone’s standards. Even though it had been years, five in fact, since he last got into a jaeger, that was no excuse for him to stop being in shape. The P.P.D.C had run him through intense therapy and Treville, a fellow ranger turned marshall, had convinced him to stay on to train new pilots.

Athos said he hated his job. He didn’t. It was how he met Aramis and Porthos after all. 

“You’re going to be late for breakfast,” Aramis called out, breaking Athos’ concentration. He glanced at the nearby war clock. If he was doing the math correctly, he had been in the kwoon for a good three hours. The mess didn’t open until seven. But Porthos was unwrapping his knuckles and it was clear that Athos wasn’t going to get out of this without a fight. 

He sighed. “I’m going to take a shower.” Porthos beamed.

“So am I. Aramis, go loiter outside of the mess for us. We’ll meet you there in half an hour.” In the shower, Athos listened to Porthos chatter about the latest batch of recruits that was due to come in that afternoon, as if Athos didn’t already know everything there was to know. After all, Treville had shown him the dossiers and asked him which he thought were most likely to pass and actually reach some level of ability. 

And that was before even nearing a drift test, not to mention the stimulator or a jaeger. 

Still, Athos appreciated it. He needed to get out of his own head, and gossiping about the fresh meat was a good way of doing that. Usually he discouraged that kind of behavior; it was distracting and not at all important. But, well, he needed a bit of a distraction about something that couldn’t matter less and Porthos knew that.

“Any of them viable candidates or is the brass really scraping the bottom of the barrel this time?” Porthos asked, only half joking. It was getting harder and harder for the P.P.D.C to recruit people. The war against the kaiju had been going on for years and there was still no end in sight. Governments were getting tired of sending their funds towards what they saw as a pointless conflict and people were tired of burying relatives.

Athos didn’t blame them. He just didn’t see what else could be done. 

He shrugged. “There can always be a surprise.” He scratched at his beard and wondered if he had time to trim it. There was nothing regulation about his scruff, but as long as he didn’t have to get in a jaeger it was fine. The helmets wouldn’t accommodate any facial hair, not without modification, and it was against P.P.D.C rules to have a beard in the first place. Seeing as Athos had gone through what was probably the most traumatic experience a person could go through, he got a bit of a pass with certain things. 

“So no,” Porthos replied, filling in the blanks. Goatees were fine, of course, as long as they weren’t too long or bushy. Porthos and Aramis both had one. Then again, they were both some of the most decorated rangers in P.P.D.C history so they probably could have gotten away with just about anything. “Well, I suppose we will have to put them through a few rounds anyway?” 

“But of course.” Athos felt his lips twitch even as he turned the water off and went to towel himself dry. “We have to make some effort. And who knows? One of them might be competent enough to warrant a test or two.” The odds really weren’t as bad as he liked to say they were. As always, the problem was not in whether the candidates were physically capable. It was whether there was anyone they could drift with.

“Do you want to talk about anything?” Porthos asked as they made their way to the mess hall. The sound of rangers and support staff mulling about grew louder with every step. It might be early, but everyone was hungry and that was a powerful motivator to get people up. “Anything, Athos. You know we’re here for you.” 

Porthos had such a concerned look on his face, it was as if Athos didn’t regularly get nightmares and wake up in a cold sweat. Still, if he thought it would do any good he would have said yes. But there was no point to talking about it, so Athos said no. “Let’s find your boyfriend,” he added, making it clear that the subject was closed. 

They walked to the showers and joked together as if nothing was wrong. It was nice and vaguely reassuring. Athos couldn’t complain.

 

 

 

“What’s this? Porthos showered already?” Flea teased as the duo walked into the crowd of people. Porthos laughed and grabbed his old friend in a headlock, messing up her bedhead even more. “Hey, watch it. I was working on this look all night.” Athos rolled his eyes and Aramis said nothing, though the gleam in his eyes betrayed how amused he was by the exchange. “And how are you, Athos? Ready for the recruits today?”

“I haven’t had nearly enough to drink,” Athos deadpanned. Flea chuckled at that and turned back to Porthos. Aramis gave him a look that disappeared as Athos shook his head ever so slightly. It wasn’t reassurance but it was better than nothing.

Everyone knew that alcohol wasn’t supposed to be in the shatterdome in the first place and especially so for Athos. Sobriety, perfect and total, was a requirement for him to remain a ranger. Anything less even hinted at and Treville would be forced to decommission him. After everything Athos had been through, losing his home and friends in one fell swoop would most likely kill him.

And that was not an exaggeration. 

The mess finally opened and the small herd of hungry individuals poured in, all clamoring for a good spot in line to get that morning’s mush. The eggs were powdered and the milk almost definitely didn’t come from an animal, but the sausage was passable and Athos had a particular fondness for the orange juice. Or, rather, what they called orange juice. There weren’t a lot of places left that could grow oranges. 

After the initial chaos, things settled down and Athos found himself sitting at the end of the table, Porthos to his left. 

“Where’s Charon? Have another late night in the stimulator?” Porthos asked. It was rather odd to see one pilot without the other, considering the bond that developed and grew between them. Regardless of whether two people had been strangers or family before getting into a jaeger, afterwards they were closer than words could describe. Drift compatible was the closest anyone could get.

Flea shook her head. “He said he’d be here. I don’t actually know what’s taking him so long.” Porthos shrugged, obviously not too bothered by it, and stole a piece of bread off of Aramis’ plate. 

“I was going to eat that,” Aramis complained. 

“Exactly. Was. Now I’m eating it,” Porthos replied. He glanced at Athos’ mostly full plate. Athos knew he should eat more, knew that wasting food was practically a crime nowadays, but he just couldn’t get his hand to move the fork from his plate to his mouth. It wasn’t a physical exhaustion. It was mental, pure and simple. “Are you going to eat that?” Porthos pointed to what remained of the eggs. Athos took one last bite of his sausage and downed his milk before pushing the entire tray towards his friend.

“Take it.” Athos stood and cracked his neck. “There are a few things I need to check before the trials today. I’ll see you all later.” He eyed Porthos and Aramis. “Don’t get into too much trouble while I’m gone.” 

There was a moment of hesitation as they wondered whether they should stop him. Everyone knew who Athos was, what his past held, how broken he had been when he first dragged himself and Milady de Winter on shore. But they were almost used to this happened, to the point where their concern was on the surface only. At least, that was how Athos saw it. They knew he wouldn’t die and they didn’t monitor him like he was a child. It was the little things he had learned to appreciate. 

Aramis laughed. “Now, Athos, what in the world makes you think we would?” 

“Speak for yourself. I intend on causing at least three fights today. Those k-scientists have challenged me to a poker game today and Markus owes me for last time,” Porthos said. 

Athos left the mess with the sound of his friends laughing ringing in his ears. It was almost loud enough to drown out the way Anne’s screams echoed in his head. 

 

 

 

He made his way to the stimulator room, the place where rangers could go to pretend to drift and fight kaiju. Pilots came here almost as often as everyone else. It was where people could get a taste of what a real drift was like, except without the pressure or danger of being in a jaeger. The cadets would all have gone through extensive training in their own bases, but coming to the one and only Canadian shatterdome is different. First and foremost, this was to test whether they have a chance of getting into a jaeger.

Second, Constance Bonacieux was the neural bridge operator and head of LOCCENT for this shatterdome. While she could be the kindest person in the world, carrying a mother hen complex wider than the Mariana Trench, she also had a reputation of tearing anyone who thought they could push her around to shreds. Figuratively, thankfully. Athos wasn’t sure how much paperwork would be involved with a manslaughter case in the shatterdome and he wasn’t eager to find out.

“Good morning,” Athos drawled as he walked in. Already a half dozen technicians were scurrying around the place, double and triple checking every last piece of equipment. The last thing anyone wanted was for a potential pilot to get their brain scrambled because someone didn’t notice a fraying wire. 

It had happened before. The results to the poor victim were messy. The consequences for the people who were supposed to make sure everything was safe? Well, suffice to say they no longer worked for the P.P.D.C. 

Constance glanced at him and seemed more annoyed at his presence than anything else. “I don’t suppose you know why I’ve just been told that there are thirteen candidates instead of the usual twelve? “She asked. If it weren’t for her heavy breathing and a few stray hairs, she would have seemed perfectly at ease. Well, that and the way her eyebrows were drawn down, giving her quite the scowl. 

Athos held up his hands. “I was not aware that such a change had been made.” Constance huffed and brushed the errant hairs aside. “When did this happen?” Athos asked. 

“This morning. I got up to get breakfast only to see a message from Treville.” She saw the blank look on Athos’ face and sighed. “You haven’t checked your email yet, have you?” He shook his head and was about to make some excuse when Constance tensed. “Oi, do you want to make the whole system crash?” She shouted, running off to yell at someone. “Put that plug in and try to run all the simulations. Try it! And then you explain to Treville how the entire shatterdome has suddenly lost power.” 

Taking that as his cue to leave, Athos headed for the door. “Oh, Athos, wait,” Constance called out, running over. She seemed done terrifying the technician and actually more calm than before. Athos already knew what she was going to say and, while he had no idea who told her, made a mental note to scare Aramis into giving up the secret. Unless it had been Aramis.

Upon second thought, it was probably Aramis. 

“If there’s anything you want to talk about, the offer’s on the table. And,” she added, holding a hand up to stop him from turning her down immediately, “I know you don’t want to talk about it. That’s all right. But you know that we’re here for you whenever.” 

It was sweet of her, Athos knew, but he still let out a heavy sigh. The downside of remaining with the P.P.D.C after the media shit storm? Everyone knew everything about him. They didn’t treat him with kid gloves, not exactly, but there was the constant checking in, the way they always asked if he wanted to talk. Porthos and Aramis were the best at resisting the urge, but even they seemed to not be able to help it. Some people would have appreciated so much support, but all Athos wanted to do was forget.

Everyone asking about whether he got enough sleep or woke up listening to his dead wife scream? That wasn’t exactly helping. 

Instead of saying anything like that, or even thanking Constance for her concern, Athos nodded towards where someone was trying to hook up two of the simulators together. “Are they supposed to be doing that?” He asked, brow furrowing. Constance swore and ran over. Athos took that as his chance to leave. He’d see her later and it wasn’t like this was him being particularly rude.

Athos resisted the urge to go to his quarters and wait for the clock to hit noon, which was about when the fresh meat was supposed to arrive. It would be easy to try to get more sleep or just to lounge around and not do anything for a few hours, but Athos knew that Treville would somehow know and be disappointed. For all of Athos’ flaws, he didn’t like letting his superior officer down. Not after everything Treville had done for him.

So instead of letting himself wallow, Athos went to Treville’s office. He knocked twice and even waited for the mashall to tell him to come in before entering. “Athos,” the marshall said, sounding almost surprised, “To what do I owe this honor?” 

“When were you planning on telling me about the extra man?” Athos asked, crossing his arms and wondering if he seemed as defensive as he was trying to be. It wasn’t that this was an actual problem, it was barely an inconvenience. But he liked to be made aware of things so he could plan. Having some certainty in his life was a comfort, and one of the small things he could rely on was that the P.P.D.C has everything regulated and regimented. Nothing out of the ordinary. 

Except the size of Athos’ beard and, apparently, adding people to testing rosters without telling anyone else. 

Treville, for his credit, only looked a little exasperated. “What makes you think it’s a man?” He asked with a cock of an eyebrow. Athos gave him a look. They both know that, for all the talk and sound bites, the P.P.D.C was no closer to full inclusion of female rangers than they were five years ago. In all other aspects? Yes. But not in a jaeger. 

Athos repeated his question. “I sent you an email,” Treville pointed out, as if that was enough warning. Before Athos can complain more, though, the marshall raised a hand. “Listen, Athos, it was a last minute addition. I didn’t know until I woke up this morning. The lad is talented. His scores in every category are off the charts.” Treville gave Athos a small smile. “Which you would know if you opened your email. I assume Constance told you?”

“After yelling at a few poor technicians, yes.” Athos relaxed his posture and glanced at the files on Treville’s desk. They were all dossiers on the people arriving at the shatterdome. “Which one is lucky thirteen?” Treville flipped one closed and handed it to him. Athos opened it and took in brown eyes, brown skin, brown hair; it should have been boring but somehow each drew him in. 

They were all different shades, for one. He had dark hair, almost black, that fell down his neck and brushed against his shoulders. Athos wondered who had let him grow it out that long and then reasoned that if female pilots could have long hair, then so could a male one. His skin seemed tanned, but it was too even and deep to be just from sun exposure. It gave him a sense of being _alive,_ of having a life outside of the P.P.D.C. 

But his eyes. The man’s eyes were deep and bright and Athos felt like they were telling him to back off, sit down. They belonged to someone who would take no prisoners in his quest to achieve… something. Athos supposed he could only hope that the man was on the side of the P.P.D.C. Which, considering what he was signing up to do, was likely.

Athos ignored his feelings for the most part, listening to his gut instincts instead. They were telling him that this person had potential beyond just their scores. As impressive as the numbers were, this was a candidate who had a goal and was going to get there no matter what life put in his way. Athos could respect that. He also thought it was a stupid mentality. 

“Charles de Batz-Castelmore d’Artagnan.” Athos looked up. “He doesn’t sound Canadian?” Treville nodded and waited for him to keep reading. The file told Athos that Charles was born in Gascony, France, and moved to Quebec when he was younger due to his father’s work. That same father had been killed during the early years of the kaiju war when Charles was a teenager. He enlisted as soon as he was old enough but had turned down offers to be transferred to America, Japan, and Korea, preferring to stay in Canada and wait for a jaeger there.

One line in the file grabbed Athos interest. “He tried drifting with Aramis and Porthos. Did you know that?” Treville shifted and made a noncommittal noise. “It won’t effect him now, but I deserve to know as much as possible.” Athos didn’t add the fact that he was deciding these people’s futures and if they were going to be assigned to the shatterdome. 

“I knew that he had tested previously and failed to achieve drift compatibility with anyone,” Treville admitted. “He has no enlisted family, few friends. If it weren’t for his scores I doubt he would still be testing.” 

“Do you think he can drift with any of the others?” Athos asked, cutting straight to the important point. It didn’t matter how good someone was in the kwoon or in a stimulator. If they couldn’t get into a real jaeger and manage a drift then they were useless as a pilot. People either figured that out and moved onto something else or they kept testing until they were of no use to anyone in any capacity. 

Treville hesitated. “He was sent here for a reason. If you think he can drift with someone, test it. Understood?” Athos nodded. “Now get out of my office and think about what you’re going to do with thirteen people. Unless math has changed, that’s an odd number. Either find someone to spar with the extra or do it yourself, I don’t care, but figure it out.” With that, Athos was dismissed. 

He dropped the file back on Treville’s desk, saluted, and left. 

This was just another round of candidates going through the motions of testing to get into a jaeger. Canada had just built its first mark V, the latest in jaeger technology, and people wanted to know how it ran. The brass, the media, the citizens it was going to protect; everyone was relying on Athos to pick the best team for the job. 

Of course, to do that he needed to know everything about the jaeger, almost as if it was his own. Not like it could ever come close to the one he had piloted, but the fancy tech was a nice addition. And if it helped kill kaiju quicker then, well, Athos wasn’t going to complain.

He glanced at his watch. Still two hours before the candidates would be arriving by plane. Athos knew he’d take about half an hour to get ready; the uniform was a pain to pull on and he’d have to put effort into looking presentable rather than like he took a shower at six thirty in the morning. His hair was almost always a mess but he could run a comb through it and trim his beard a bit more. 

That left two and a half hours to do whatever the hell he wanted to. Athos yawned and decided that he might as well try to sleep. If anything important happened, the alarms would wake him up. 

Assuming, of course, he got to sleep in the first place.

 

 

 

The group of would-be pilots was a rather shoddy bunch, if anyone asked Athos for his opinion. Since the people who did ask included the top brass of the P.P.D.C, he felt that he should be allowed to say such things aloud. Of course, the general consensus was that he needed to give everyone who showed up a chance. These were supposed to be the best of the best, after all, the chosen few who were brave enough and skilled enough to have a shot at being in a jaeger. That being said, Athos also thought that the Canadian shatterdome was constantly getting the short end of the stick. 

After all, they weren’t as flashy as any of the Asian shatterdomes and they didn’t have the massive funding that the U.S. or Russian ones could draw up. And, situated so close to Anchorage, the base didn’t get a lot of kaiju activity. Which, well, was a good thing but also meant that the P.P.D.C focused their efforts elsewhere. That wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, Athos supposed, but it did make his job rather… frustrating at times. There were only so many people he could test, only to have them sent off to other facilities, before he started wanting to tear his hair out. 

“Do you want to do yoga or are you sparring?” Athos shouted at one pair. “If you’re fighting the kaiju, they aren’t going to move at a snail’s pace.” The two were hopelessly incompatible but trying to prove otherwise, which was painful to watch. Athos supposed they weren’t as bad as he was making it sound like, but his job wasn’t to be nice. His job was to be mean, yell a lot, and hopefully pick the best pilots possible. 

Some groups, of course, brought up no candidates for moving forward, for actually testing drift compatibility. It was unfortunate, but it happened. Notes and paper could only describe a person so much. There was a human aspect involved in every step of the process. It was painful at times, having to pour over results only to see everything crumble during one sparring match, but Athos knew it worked. More importantly, the P.P.D.C knew it worked, so things didn’t change. 

“Swap out with those two,” Athos told the duo, nodding at another struggling pair. “See if that works.” He glanced over the matches and his eyes landed on the group of three. It was, if his memory was correct, made up of Alvarez from San Antonio, White from Toronto, and d’Artagnan from Montreal. 

Watching, he could tell that there was potential. The three had decided to have a match between all of them at once, rather than switching off, and it was going well. The main issue, as far as Athos could make out, was that d’Artagnan had a relentless, quick style while Alvarez and White seemed to prefer thinking their way through things and reacting to what d’Artagnan threw at them. 

On the other hand, it was possible that d’Artagnan was just so superior to them that they could only react. 

“D’Artagnan, step out. I want to see Alvarez and White,” Athos ordered, walking over and jotting down some notes on his clipboard. He didn’t really need to, but it intimidated people and Athos couldn’t help but enjoy that. 

Athos could tell that d’Artagnan was surprised at the request, but any other emotion was hidden under a careful nod. That was good. It wouldn’t do for a pilot to be too controlled by their feelings. Sometimes it was beneficial, but when fighting the kaiju it was much better and more reliable if a person could keep a steady head and a lock on their heart. 

That didn’t mean pilots weren’t allowed to feel, to have relationships or bonds or anything like that. The P.P.D.C kept an eye on its people, but the drift brought everyone closer. Rangers without those links, those things tying them together couldn’t drift. It was as simple as that.

The match between Alvarez and White was interesting enough to merit the duo being added to Athos’ short list of people who would go into the next stage of testing. Consider the process took most of the day, very few people made it past the second part. The first was easy. Candidates arrived, put their stuff in cubbies, and started to fight. It was a bit chaotic to run half a dozen matches all at once, but Athos was damn good at his job and he could tell when duos needed to swap partners and when two people had potential.

The second step was to send the ones who passed into the drift stimulator. That was what Constance had set up. She always prepared for the extremely unlikely possibility that every pilot made it to that stage, running twelve solo pods. Or, in this case, thirteen. At that point, the hopeful rangers would go into the drift with the AI, which would be calibrated to check for any irregularities and to see how their brain reacted during the training mission. Each was randomized so there was no chance that the person had ever had that exact kaiju and that jaeger before; it kept people on their toes.

Today, Athos ended up sending six people forward. D’Artagnan slipped by on virtue of his scores and the fact that he did quite well in a match against Whitney from Tulsa. White and Alvarez also made it through, along with Bradley from New York City and Cook from Quebec City. 

Personally, Athos was a bit annoyed that so many of the candidates were from the U.S. This was a Canadian jaeger and there were Canadian pilots. It wasn’t as if the Americans were any better and they had plenty of opportunities. He understood why the P.P.D.C did it, but that didn’t mean he had to agree. 

Still, that annoyance didn’t stop him from sending those six to Constance. Though, to be exact, he ordered them to follow him and lead them to Constance. 

She looked over the group, gave Athos a look, and went to work. 

“Anything I should know?” She asked, honestly curious. Athos hesitated before nodding towards the pod d’Artagnan was getting into. 

“That one has done this before. He tested with Aramis and Porthos.” Constance had read the file, she knew everything Athos did, but he still mentioned it as a reminder. She didn’t seem annoyed either, just hummed and went to make sure one of her technicians was doing her job properly.

Athos really did appreciate everything Constance did, but he was also very glad he didn’t work for her. 

He stood behind her as she began the drifts, her monitor lighting up with information on six different simulations. Each was numbered with the pod and Athos found himself drawn to number four, the one d’Artagnan was in. Athos reasoned that he was just interested in this thirteenth person, this candidate who had managed to worm his way into making an exception in a system that did not have exceptions.

Athos didn’t give any credence to the possibility that he felt drawn to d’Artagnan. Certainly there was something admirable about d’Artagnan’s story, but it wasn’t something that hadn’t been heard a hundred times. Many of the people working in the P.P.D.C had lost someone. Most of them joined because of that. Some of them stayed because they had nowhere left to return to.

“This is weird,” Constance muttered. Athos raised an eyebrow and she seemed to get the hint. “I’ve been doing this for almost eight years and I’ve seen some weird things, but this drift… See?” She pointed at something on the screen, where bars were displaying the different vital signs for each person in the drift. 

“Seeing as I have not been doing this for eight years, I do not see,” Athos explained. “But that’s what you’re here for, isn’t it?” He drawled, leaning over her shoulder. Constance rolled her eyes and typed something in. Pod number four was brought up and even more detail appeared.

“Most people retain a baseline heart rate and vital signs when they go into a drift. If anything, everything should be elevated. These simulations aren’t easy,” Constance replied. “But number four’s vitals are lower than usual. It’s as if he’s meditating or in a trance.” 

“Could that be an issue with the machine?” Athos asked. Constance gave him a look. “All right, forget I asked.” There was a moment of silence as he thought about the circumstances. “Can you pull up his past drift records? Everything is stored in a central database, right?” She nodded and switched screens, flying through search engines and security checks too fast for Athos to follow. 

“Charles de Batz-Castelmore d’Artagnan, age 28, born in Gascony, France and moved to Montreal, Canada. He’s been tested once before, in the same round as Aramis and Porthos like you mentioned. Uh,” Constance clicked on a few tabs, “He’s done 83 stimulated drops, killed 83 kaiju. No one has ever actively monitored him like this. Or at least they didn’t bother to record what they saw.” 

Athos scowled. “I want him to try drifting with someone else. Are there any notes on why he couldn’t drift with the others?” Constance took a moment to dig through the different files. Athos decided to use that time to check on how the other candidates were doing. Nothing abnormal in a good or bad way. Everyone was great, fantastic even, at killing fake kaiju.

It meant absolutely nothing in the real world and everyone knew that. The simulations were only good to try to get future pilots ready for the drift, but even then the computers could only do so much. No matter what the j-tech engineers tried, no one was ever really prepared for their first drift. At least the rates of brain death and hate failure had gone down. It was bad press if the ranger program had a fifty percent mortality rate through testing alone.

“Simple stuff, really,” Constance announced. “He just couldn’t maintain the drift.” She leaned back in her chair and gave Athos a look that meant she either had something to say or he had something on his face. He raised an eyebrow, a silent indicator to continue. “I would bet that he clears his mind too much. There’s nothing for the others to latch onto and he, for whatever reason, doesn’t connect. So the drift can’t sustain itself.” 

Athos knew more than most people about how the drift worked, but even he had to concede that Constance was superior in this regard. With that in mind, he shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. Does anyone else display similar vital signs?” He asked, leaning over her and pulling the screen back to its original display. The simulations were starting to wrap up for some of the candidates, the ones who had either gotten lucky or were just fast at what they did. 

Speed, Athos knew, was not an indicator of skill but that did not mean it wasn’t a valuable quality to have. If there were few enough people testing, he liked to speed through the videos and see how everyone did while they got a chance to rest. Since there were six people, Athos would have to hope that the computers captured enough raw data to give him a vague idea of how everything had gone.

No one had failed which was always a good sign. Athos knew some of his colleagues at the other shatterdomes refused to let anyone who failed their drift test move forward. He understood why, but he still, stubbornly, kept to his own personal policy of taking everything in that situation on a case-by-case basis. Sometimes a mistake happened. He knew, more than most, that pilots were not perfect. It wasn’t a matter of whether they screwed up, it was a matter of how they reacted.

“No. Alice Cook and Joshua Bradley are the closest but they’re more in sync with one another than with d’Artagnan.” Constance brushed her fingers over the keys but didn’t press any, her hesitation palatable. Athos glanced around the room. Except for Alvarez, everyone was either out of their fake drift or starting to come out of it. The techs were swarming around, pulling drivesuits off of bodies and ushering people into showers. No one wanted relay gel in their hair and Athos wasn’t going to put people through that.

After a moment of waiting, Athos decided enough was enough. “Pull Alvarez from the drift and reset everything. Get ready for an actual drift attempt.” He hesitated but, well, he had trusted Constance so far. “And while they’re getting ready, you are going to tell me what you’re thinking.”

He expected her to tell him that d’Artagnan should be tested with everyone there, or no one, or to point out something else odd about the man’s drift record. But when Athos heard her, he couldn’t help but feel his jaw drop a little in surprise. _“Excuse me?”_ He asked, certain that his ears had managed to garble up the words. 

Constance at least had the frame of mind to look a little sheepish about it. “I know, I know, it’s weird and not according to regulations but I think it’ll work.” Not, of course, sheepish enough to drop the subject or just not bring it up in the first place. “Athos, after… after what happened, the whole world wanted to know why and how. I studied every aspect about the fight, including how your vitals changed. At first I didn’t think of it because it’s not exact, but Anne drifted the same way d’Artagnan does.”

“Just because their vitals were similar, does not mean I will be able to drift with him.” Athos opened and closed his hands. He wasn’t sure when they had curled into fists but it would take too much energy to fully relax them. “Besides, it will be seen as a poor attempt to get myself back into a jaeger. The brass will never go for it.” And by that he meant Treville. The marshall was a good man and he was fair in judgement, but Athos hadn’t been cleared by anyone to step foot inside a jaeger. 

Not that they were without reason. Athos knew that his own hesitation was bleeding through, drawing this conversation out. He already had orders to do his best to get d’Artagnan into a jaeger and it wasn’t like the drift would work. No, Athos could just do the stupid test and prove that he was too screwed up to ever be a pilot again. It would leave Constance no room to argue and it would… well, it would be just another reason for everyone to pity him. 

Athos could live with their pity. He already had to live with worse.

“You can try it first. If it doesn’t work then no harm done. But if it does, then you have results that you can bring to them,” Constance, in her eternal wisdom, pointed out. Athos sighed, mentally resigning himself to doing this. Outwardly, though, he put up a good fight. At least, he hoped he did.

“D’Artagnan will have to agree to this.” Constance looked at him. Athos sighed. It had been worth a shot. “It isn’t going to work,” Athos added, not for the first time. Constance shrugged.

“But at least we’ll know.” She glanced at the doorway. Just down the hall the six candidates were waiting to see what would happen to them. “Come on, Athos. This man’s been through a lot. I bet this is his dream, being a pilot. You have to let him have this chance.”

“The only thing I have to do is ensure the survival of the human race,” Athos argued. “The happiness and hopes and dreams of one person are inconsequential.” 

“Really? Because you’re letting yourself get in the way of testing someone who is one of the most brilliant potential pilots I’ve ever seen and you know I’m right.” She was which, usually, was fine. It was just that today, at that very moment, Athos couldn’t help but wish Constance was less intelligent. He would be in less of an awkward, generally uncomfortable situation. “We can do it by tonight and no one will be the wiser.” 

Athos sighed and thought. “The next stage is physical combat trials, part two. There are a few pairs I want to test first. And if d’Artagnan seems incompatible with all of them then we can consider your plan. But I am not going around what is supposed to happen. Do you understand?” 

Constance nodded. “Never thought I’d see the day where you defended the rules so passionately.” Athos snorted and turned to leave. “You’ll thank me for this!” She shouted after him. He resisted the urge to throw a rude gesture at her. They were working, after all.

After the simulated drift runs, the candidates got a bit of time to breathe before being thrown back into the kwoon for more matches. This time, though, Athos had specific pairs he wanted to test out. For d’Artagnan, the enigma of a man, that meant facing everyone. When that was announced, however, he just nodded and gripped his staff a lighter tighter. 

The lights of the kwoon reflected against his eyes, revealing flecks of gold. They were imperfections against the brown but Athos felt drawn to them. He told himself that it was unprofessional to be thinking about someone that way, someone he was in charge of and someone twelve years his junior. 

He absentmindedly fidgeted with the locket around his neck. 

 

 

 

Watching a group of strangers try to prove that they could achieve high enough drift compatibility to fight monsters that came out of the sea was actually most amusing than it probably was supposed to be. At least, Athos thought it was. He could tell when people were trying too hard, though, not letting themselves fall into a natural pattern that would show actual drift. When movements were fluid, reactionary, a dance more than a fight, then Athos would consider sending them forward. 

Right now, he was considering calling it quits early and just letting everyone enjoy the base before getting shipped back to wherever they came from. The P.P.D.C wouldn’t be happy, per se, but they’d understand. Sometimes the batch of recruits just didn’t work out. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, it just happened. 

But this was also Canada’s first new jaeger in over six years and Athos was not going to let some asshole American or cocky Russian decide who was going to pilot it. 

“That’s all I want to see,” Athos drawled, stopping a match between Cook and Whitney. “Get some water, everyone. We start again in five minutes.” He wasn’t surprised to see Alvarez and White immediately start chatting. Those two were going to be tested for compatibility, Athos had already decided, but everyone else hadn’t reached the level he liked to see. Of course, he could always have one of the more iffy bonds on the off-chance that they worked, but the P.P.D.C didn’t consider that a good use of resources. 

In other words, they wanted people to be able to decide whether someone was drift compatible without actually putting them in a drift. It was a bit ridiculous, Athos thought; even with all the hoops candidates jumped through, there was always the chance that it wouldn’t work. A bigger concern, though, was that the people who could drift might not be the best people for the job. It had happened before. Sub-par partnerships would get into a jaeger and almost die on their first drop because of incompetency on someone’s end. 

Athos would rather no one pass then for that to happen because of him. He was not going to be the cause of someone else’s death. Not if he could help it at any rate.

“D’Artagnan, I want to speak with you,” he called out after three minutes. The Gascon seemed surprised but not necessarily frightened as he came over. Athos had to look up at him and suppressed a twinge of annoyance. At six feet tall, he was the same height as Porthos and taller than Aramis. D’Artagnan, however, was six foot four. Something about that bothered Athos. He felt that it would make more sense for d’Artagnan to be shorter.

“Sir?” Athos knew that there was no point beating around the proverbial bush, so he didn’t even try. It was clear, though, that d’Artagnan wasn’t following. “You want to test against me? Doesn’t someone have to watch you -- us -- spar?” Or, rather, he was confused over the logistics. Athos supposed that was fair.

“I’ll be able to tell.” Athos shifted. The others were coming back and stretching, ready to continue. “It is up to you whether we do it now or later.” _After the rest of the candidates have finished,_ was implied. D’Artagnan thought about it.

“I don’t care,” he replied. “If we are compatable, they’ll hear about it sooner or later.” Athos nodded. He could respect that mindset. 

With that in mind, then, he stepped away and called for Bradley and Cook to get onto the mat. 

About a half hour later, Athos had seen everything he needed to. “You are all dismissed. Alvarez and White, I’ll see you in the simulator room tomorrow at 0600. The rest of you… Good job. This won’t mar your records,” Athos assured them. He allowed a small smile to twitch on his face as the two who would proceed celebrated, clapping the other on the back. 

They all left except for d’Artagnan, to hovered at the edge of the mat. He had fought against the other five multiple times and sweat had stained the back of his tank top. His bangs were no longer plastered to his forehead but it was clear that he had been pushing himself for the past six and a half hours. Athos sighed.

“This does not guarantee anything,” he reminded d’Artagnan. The man nodded, watching as Athos began pulling off his jacket and gloves. “Get me one of their bo staffs,” Athos essentially ordered as he knelt down to untie his boots. He didn’t have to look up; he could hear d’Artagnan scurrying away to grab the piece of wood. He crossed the practice mat and held it out for Athos, who took it and spun it a few times in his hands to test the balance. 

It was good. Old and worn down by hundreds, if not thousands, of hands, but good. “Do you have any questions before we begin?” Athos drawled, stepping onto the mat. D’Artagnan stood on the other end, maybe five yards away. He hesitated. “Say it, we haven’t got all day,” Athos snapped.

“Why are you doing this?” D’Artagnan asked. Athos was only wondering how d’Artagnan had kept the question to himself for so long.

“A professional hunch.” Athos rolled his shoulders. “We go to five points. When I call a point, that’s it. We do not reset between points. Do you understand?” 

“Yessir.” Athos made a face. D’Artagnan raised an eyebrow and tilted his head, curious.

“Right now, we are equals. Drift partners, pilots, do not care about age or rank.” Athos adjusted his grip on the staff. “Begin.” 

He was not surprised when d’Artagnan launched forward, swinging his staff and aiming for Athos’ side. It took some fancy footwork, but Athos dodged and countered by jabbing d’Artagnan in the ribs. The Gascon fell to one side, the staff missing by a narrow margin, as Athos lost his balance. Almost immediately d’Artagnan took advantage, rolling on the mat and taking Athos’ legs out from under him. 

Before he could pin the older man, Athos twisted and forced d’Artagnan to the ground. After that, it was easy to knock d’Artagnan’s staff away and let his own rest against d’Artagnan’s side. Athos felt himself panting, kneeling there, even though the round had only taken a few minutes. 

“That’s one.” Athos’ lips quirked up as d’Artagnan surged to his feet, pushing away Athos’ staff and tackling his legs, abandoning all guise of self-defense in favor of taking Athos down. Unfortunately for him, Athos had fought against Porthos too many times to be caught unprepared. 

“Ah!” D’Artagnan cried out as Athos stepped aside. He fell to the ground but had enough presence of mind to roll to the side, preventing Athos from being able to pin him. In retaliation, d’Artagnan kicked at Athos, landing a solid hit on Athos’ shin. The time it took for Athos to recover was more than enough for d’Artagnan to get to his feet and soon the two were circling one another.

Fighting d’Artagnan, Athos mused as they rushed at one another, was different than fighting Aramis or Porthos. Not just functionally. Of course people had varied styles, preferences that manifested in how a kick or a punch was executed. But d’Artagnan himself was unique. There was a sense of passion, of pride and fury and stubborn refusal to sit down even as Athos knocked him over once more, that flowed through his veins. 

He was talented, yes, but Athos could also see the results of hours and hours put into training and practicing. There was a sharp edge to all of d’Artagnan’s movements that set him apart from just some mindless brute throwing around his superior height. Every action was thought out no matter how reactionary and every glance was meant to gleam just a little extra information. 

“That’s one for you,” Athos panted, feeling the weight of d’Artagnan’s knee against the small of his back. Immediately the pressure was lifted, giving Athos just enough room to stand and try to regain his breath. 

It wasn’t that Aramis and Porthos weren’t also professionals when the three trained together, it was just that their idea of sparring was much different. For Athos, the rest of the world melted away and it was as if nothing else existed. Porthos and Aramis were both very aware of their surroundings, something that had saved them before in a fight. But Athos had always felt almost a hyper-focus when it came down to it, vision narrowed down to a small pin point in front of him.

D’Artagnan was the opposite. He was taking in everything, absorbing everything, but doing it in a way that made it seem like he was hunting down someone, not on a stroll in the woods or looking for structural weaknesses in a house. Athos found himself almost struggling against him, each blow coming one after the other, forcing him on the defensive. That so rarely happened that, upon realizing it, Athos almost stumbled over his own two feet.

“That’s a second for me,” d’Artagnan announced after flipping Athos onto his back. There was a staff pressed against Athos’ windpipe, not nearly hard enough to restrict breathing but enough so that it was uncomfortable. Athos managed to convey that with a look and d’Artagnan blushed, stepping back. “Sorry,” he mumbled, suddenly a bashful schoolboy.

If, of course, the schoolboy was a fully grown man with well-defined muscles and the ability to kill someone with his bare hands. The only aspect about d’Artagnan that made him seem younger than Athos knew he was happened to be the scraggly attempts at a beard. Either d’Artagnan was trying but unable to grow facial hair or he had missed a spot shaving. Athos wasn’t sure which would have been a better answer.

Athos shook his head. “It’s fine.” He noticed d’Artagnan prepare to fight and waved him down. “I’ve seen enough,” he explained. The disappointment rolled off of d’Artagnan in waves but, of the many unlikeable traits that Athos possessed, sadism was not one of them. Nor, despite what Aramis might say, was a flare for the dramatic. “I’ll see you tomorrow. 0600 in the simulator room. Don’t be late.” 

The look on d’Artagnan’s face could only be described as pure joy. “Thank you, sir, you won’t regret this.” Athos glanced at him and d’Artagnan swallowed. “Uh, I meant to say, thank you, I’ll be there.” 

“Just don’t call me sir again,” Athos deadpanned. There was a moment of silence before d’Artagnan smiled, picking up on the sarcasm. He saluted before spinning on his heel and walking off to the locker rooms to change and shower.

“You’re weak on your right side,” d’Artagnan shouted, not turning around. 

Athos sighed. He was going to have a lot of explaining to do.


	2. Chapter 2

“I’m going to attempt to drift with d’Artagnan,” Athos repeated. The look on Treville’s face didn’t change. A moment passed. Athos wondered if this conversation was going to last much longer or if he was going to get sacked where he stood. He doubted that Treville would be that angry, but Athos had nothing to compare this to. 

Funnily enough, not many ex-pilots got back into a jaeger, let alone tried to drift with a new recruit because of a slim chance that they were compatible. If anyone had done so before, Athos had never heard of them.

“Constance compared his drift state to my… to Anne’s. She said they were similar. I sparred with him last night and I agree that we have a chance,” Athos explained. 

Treville sighed and shook his head. “I did tell you to test him with anyone you thought he could drift with,” he muttered. Athos nodded, shifting a bit. He had woken up early, almost too early in any sane person’s mind, to talk to the marshall. This was just about how he expected the conversation to go, but that didn’t make it any better. 

At least he hadn’t been forbidden from drifting with d’Artagnan. Yet. 

“I want you to test the other two first,” Treville decided. 

“Of course,” Athos replied. He had expected nothing less. “And if they do drift, then I will consider them the pilots.” Treville nodded slowly. He stood up and adjusted his jacket. “Sir?” Athos asked, confused.

“If this is happening, as your commanding officer I have the right to be there. I will judge if the drifts are successful or not, understood?” Treville said. Athos nodded and dutifully followed him to the drift simulator room. 

Except this time it wouldn’t be a simulation. The drifts were going to be as real as it could get, the only missing aspect the presence of a jaeger itself. That would come later if either drifts were successful. Athos knew that some shatterdomes skipped the initial test and put people in the jaeger immediately but, well, the jaeger hadn’t been finished yet. The brass had wanted pilots picked out and ready to go, though they’d be useless for the one week it took to get the jaeger finished and brought over. 

Thinking of pilots, Alvarez and White were already suited up and chatting with one of the techs. D’Artagnan stood off to the side, hovering like an anxious bird. He was also in a suit, but his helmet was off, cradled under an arm. Constance was talking to him. Athos wouldn’t be surprised if she was talking him down from an anxiety attack. He had seen potential pilots throw up or even faint before drifting with another person like this. 

It was a stressful situation, though he noticed that it was less so with strangers. No shared history meant it was harder to drift, sure, but it also meant that nothing too bad could happen to the relationship. Worse case scenario, the two went back to being strangers. Athos had seen friendships, marriages, and families torn apart by what drifts revealed. 

Those were always the worst. 

“Good morning,” Athos called out to the room, nodding at Constance and feeling a bit more confident when everyone turned to look at him. “You know why we’re here. Let’s get going. It either works or it doesn’t. Alvarez and White, you two are going first. Hope you don’t have any skeletons because they’re about to come out of the closet.” 

“I did that eight years ago, sir,” White replied with a cocky smile on his face. Athos felt his own lips twitch even as Alvarez burst into laughter and high-fived the other. Regardless of whether the drift worked or not, Athos could already tell the two are going to remain friends.

He wasn’t sure if he wanted them to be the pilots or not. By all accounts they were both brilliant. Their scores were good and their personalities perfect for the high media saturation that came with being a ranger. But Athos was closer to getting back into a jaeger than ever before and, well, he couldn’t help but want that.

Even if he still got nightmares about the last time he fought a kaiju. 

Hell, Athos hadn’t even simulated a drift since the incident. _What the fuck am I doing?_ Athos wondered as he watched Alvarez and White get into the pods. _I am going to horribly screw up and fry my brain. Or d’Artagnan’s. Or both of us._ None of them were particularly attractive options.

“We’re ready to go,” Constance said from behind her desk. Treville was standing behind her, not quite looming but still rather intimidating. He wasn’t even that tall or muscular, but he had been one of the first pilots in the world and he was one of the few left alive who had piloted mark IIs. If anyone had more experience than Athos, it was him.

Treville nodded and Constance told everyone to step away from the pods. It wasn’t like they would get electrocuted or anything equally horrible, but it was just procedure. The P.P.D.C like their procedures.

“Preparing for neural handshake,” the AI announced to the now quiet room. “Engaging neural handshake in ten… nine… eight…” Athos found himself watching d’Artagnan instead of the monitors, curious to see how the other was reacting. 

It was almost a disappointment how genuinely excited and curious d’Artagnan is. If he seemed envious or angry then Athos wouldn’t feel so bad about how low his chances were. It was cruel, in a way, to give him this chance at all. Athos knew better than most how finicky the drift could be, how even the most obvious pairs could sometimes not get above twenty percent stability. 

Then again, Athos had heard of stranger cases of drift compatibility, so perhaps he and d’Artagnan were not that hopeless at all.

No one so much as breathed. At least, that’s how it seemed. There was the soft hum of machines as they warmed up, sending Alvarez and White into one another’s mind. 

In all honesty, seeing a drift take place was rather dull. Nothing changed except for the readings on Constance’s screen. She didn’t seem surprised or concerned and, as far as Athos could tell, there was no reason for that. Things seemed normal and the AI remained blissfully silent. After a moment, though, that silence went from being comforting to being tense. 

Why wasn’t the drift being established? What was going on? Were Alvarez and White safe or did they need to get pulled out?

Athos glanced at Constance, who was making a face as she hit a few keys. “The drift isn’t taking but they’re trying. I… I can’t tell what’s wrong, but they both have elevated heart rates.” His first instinct was to tell her to end it now, pull the plug, but Athos hesitated. Was that really his professional opinion or did he want a chance to get into the drift?

He couldn’t help but feel that he should be avoiding any drift tests, any situation where someone else would be in his head. That fear had kept him awake last night and it was stopping him from ending the drift now. If Alvarez and White didn’t reach compatibility, if their neural handshake didn’t take, then it would be down to Athos and d’Artagnan. 

And, to put it simply, Athos wasn’t sure if he was ready for that kind of pressure. 

“Neural handshake engaged,” the AI announced. A certain amount of tension started to bleed from the room, not unlike the way steam would slowly seep out of an undone valve. “Holding at seventy-five percent.” It wasn’t ideal. It wasn’t nearly enough for the brass to approve the duo to get into a jaeger and fight. 

Athos felt his fists clench and he actively relaxed. All it did was make his shoulders sore. He nodded at Constance and she hit a button. The drift disengaged and slowly the two candidates came out of it. Their pods popped open and the techs swarmed around them, helping them out. He didn’t want to, but Athos took one last look at Treville. The marshall didn’t seem happy with the turn of events, but he wasn’t about to stop a possible ranger duo from testing. 

“I need a drivesuit,” Athos called out. The techs hesitated and twin looks of confusion passed over White and Alvarez’s faces. It looked like White was going to argue, to say something about how Athos couldn’t do that, but he chose to remain silent. Not that he could have dissuaded Athos from doing this, but arguing with a superior officer after failing a drift test would have looked bad on anyone’s record. 

“You heard the man,” Constance said, “Get him a drivesuit and prepare for another drift.” Her no-nonsense voice cut through the surprise and the room buzzed into action. 

Everyone was part of the well oiled machine of the P.P.D.C and within a few moments Athos found himself in the light grey armor, the helmet tucked under one arm. He walked over to d’Artagnan, who was waiting by the pods as the techs made sure everything was still in order. They exchanged nods and Athos thought that would be that, but d’Artagnan turned to him. 

“Any advice, Athos?” He asked. 

Athos shrugged. “Don’t make any rookie mistakes. Don’t chase the rabbit.” He hesitated. “I have things in my head that are unpleasant. See them, accept them, and move on. If you start to dwell then it won’t end well.” That was the easy way of saying it. Athos wasn’t sure why he didn’t just tell d’Artagnan about the dreams, about how he could still hear Anne’s voice. _He’ll know soon enough,_ Athos’ mind hissed. 

D’Artagnan didn’t seem concerned. “All right. I can do that.” 

The techs signaled to them that everything was ready and Athos put his helmet on. It was scratchy against his beard and the relay gel stuck to it. He made a mental note to shave afterwards. If, of course, this worked. Athos was still deciding whether he wanted it to or not. 

They stepped inside their pods and the suits connected to the central AI grid. In a jaeger, the suits were free to move around. Since the simulator had to take up less space and be available for more than two people, they were self-contained tubes with barely enough room to stretch. Bigger people like Porthos were hard-pressed to fit comfortably but, well, Porthos didn’t need a fake drift. He had the real thing.

“Constance, I’m ready,” Athos called out. D’Artagnan echoed the statement and Athos found himself surprised that the two were on such easy terms. It wasn’t like it mattered, really, and even he knew that Constance was easy to befriend. After all, she was friends with a grumpy man like him. 

“Engaging neural handshake in ten… nine… eight…” The AI began the countdown and Athos felt his palms start to sweat. Or maybe they were always sweating. He wasn’t sure. His heart was definitely beating faster. It didn’t usually feel like it was going to come out of his chest. He closed his eyes and tried to remember what to say, what stanza he was on, but it was too late. “Neural handshake engaged.” 

_A woman laughing. It’s bright out. The grass is soft between -- ___

_The rocks on the beach are smooth, made so by centuries of unrelenting waves. It’s cold out but that’s what the coat is for, to bundle up and stay --_

_Wet. The rain is pouring down as they kiss and he’s never felt so happy, never felt so alive, it’s as if nothing else in the world --_

_Happiness. It’s his birthday and they’re celebrating. There’s twelve candles. He blows them all out with a single --_

_It hurts. His entire right side is numb except for the pain and the kaiju is right outside about to kill him and it takes all of his energy and strength and anger and sorrow to raise up his left arm and strike it down, strike down the beast that killed his wife, take revenge for her death --_

_No. It’s ok. You’re safe. This is the shatterdome. Everything is all right._

_How can you know. How can you know anything._

_We’re in the drift. I know everything you know._

_We’re the same person, after all._

“Neural handshake engaged. Holding at ninety eight percent.” The AI’s voice broke through the drift, echoing into their heads. They glanced at each other through the drift, seeing the other but not really focusing. 

“This is weird,” d’Artagnan said. “I can feel your emotions. Your anger. Your sadness.” _It's almost too much,_ he thought, and Athos couldn’t help but agree. “Do you feel this all the time?” To that, Athos had no answer. He was so used to not noticing his emotions, ignoring them in favor of focusing on the present, that being reminded of them was strange.

“Not bad,” Treville’s voice cut in. “I want you two to sync with the machines and then I’ll have Constance put you in a joint simulation. Understood?” 

“Crystal,” Athos replied. He and d’Artagnan rolled their shoulders, adjusted their stance, and shook out any last jitters. “My head isn’t fixed,” Athos mumbled. He let just an inch of his pain and suffering through. The nightmares, his inability to talk about his problems, the way he pushed others away. All of it came through and Athos could feel their drift tremble.

D’Artagnan hesitated, mind whirling through several different answers. None of them were clear enough for Athos to understand, but one… There was one that was so full of emotion and passion that it bled over, regardless of how hard d’Artagnan tried to stop it. In the end, he settled with a shrug. 

“I know.” Athos wasn’t sure he did but, well, they would find out sooner or later. He hoped for all of their sakes sooner. If Athos had a breakdown in the simulator, that would be fine. If he had one while fighting a real kaiju? That would put millions of lives at stake, including his friends. It wasn’t that he was concerned about himself; he rarely was nowadays. But Aramis, Porthos, and Constance? They were important. 

Athos had lost one person who trusted him and he wasn’t going to lose anymore. 

_It’s going to be ok. We’ve got this._ Athos couldn’t help but smile at the confidence that accompanied d’Artagnan’s reassurance. This was both of their best chances to drift. Their best chance to make their lives matter.

“Right side calibrated,” Athos called out, picking the one he was used to. If d’Artagnan was surprised that he gave up the supposedly dominant side, he said nothing. Considering that they were literally connected, that there was no way of hiding anything, Athos felt quite confident that d’Artagnan didn’t care.

“Left side calibrated,” d’Artagnan echoed. There was a surge of excitement through the drift, one strong enough that it almost overpowered the nerves and anxiety that came along. Athos tentatively reached out over the drift and gave the equivalent of a reassuring shoulder squeeze. D’Artagnan smiled, sending his appreciation back.

Treville’s voice returned. “All right. Running the simulation in three…. two…”

The darkness of the simulation suddenly was replaced by a fake jaeger conn-pod overlooking the ocean. Athos and d’Artagnan felt their head spin as they regained balance, their senses taking in everything the simulation was telling them was real. It was bright and sunny out and the jaeger they were in felt weird. Too big, too heavy. Athos wondered if it was just him but d’Artagnan confirmed that he was feeling the same way. 

“The kaiju is a CAT II, codename Wolfgang. It’s about ten miles away. You need to intercept it and kill it before it gets to the coast,” Constance told them, acting as their LOCCENT officer instead of letting the AI run an automatic program. “Your jaeger is a mark IV, codename Redhawk. It’s got plasma cannons in each arm and a few other goodies I’ll let you find. Good luck gentlemen. I’m here to give you the same amount of help as you’d get in the field, but nothing else. If your drift falls below ninety, I have orders to pull the plug.” 

Athos winced. That was a bit harsh even for a fight. Usually pilots weren’t in any danger of losing control unless the drift hit below eighty, but he supposed that with his history Treville was taking no chances. Though Athos was considered washed-up by most people, d’Artagnan was still young and had a bright future as long as nothing messed it up. Or, as the case may be, messed him up.

This time it was d’Artagnan who sent reassurance his way. Athos grinned and pulled up the short dossier on their jaeger, skimming it alongside d’Artagnan. The two were quick readers and got the jist of the information down right as their radar pinged the kaiju on the very edge of its range. 

“Let’s kick some kaiju ass,” d’Artagnan hissed. Athos found himself grinning, looking over at where his mind said his co-pilot was. He looked stunning in the armor, now that Athos was letting himself look, and d’Artagnan laughed. “You can take me out to dinner if we win.” Apparently d’Artagnan had confidence in spades. Athos couldn’t say that he disliked it, but he wasn’t about to admit anything else.

Athos rolled his eyes. “This isn’t a game,” he replied as they moved forward, ready to engage the kaiju. “It’s a fight. Besides, there aren’t any good Italian places nearby.” The drift was good at little things too, like suddenly knowing what someone’s favorite kind of food was. 

Or knowing that their father’s death was the main motivation for them to join the P.P.D.C and that his family was relying on his income to keep everyone in school. Things like that.

“And there are winners and losers,” d’Artagnan replied. “What about Chinese? I’d love that. Haven’t had good noodles in months.”

“Chatter, you two. This is still technically a mission,” Constance reminded them. D’Artagnan laughed and Athos found himself hoping that happened more. “Kaiju is three miles away, Redhawk. You’re getting close.” 

Without warning, Athos could feel d’Artagnan start to fade away, but not in a way that suggested the drift was failing. Rather, he was becoming more closed off emotionally but his mind was growing sharper. Athos knew he focused on little things, the details that other might not notice but could change a battle. D’Artagnan was the opposite. Just like when they had sparred, he looked at everything and absorbed it all. His mind didn’t necessarily register the small parts, which was where Athos concentrated.

Together, it felt like their vision was layered on top of one another. Their eyes seemed to lay out a pile of information and it was the job of their minds to sort through it. 

To Athos, this was nothing like drifting with Anne. She had always been present, sharp and aware, a leader. It had been her decision, more often than not, to engage or to run away. But with d’Artagnan that was absent. He let Athos move them, one foot in front of the other, without argument. In a way, Athos could sense, that was d’Artagnan’s way of agreeing. 

“I wouldn’t let you do anything I thought was wrong,” d’Artagnan said without warning. Athos had forgotten what it was like to have someone in your head. It wasn’t unpleasant, not with the way the bond sung in his bones, but it was strange. 

Something breached the water, a fin slicing through the waves. _Athos -- I know, I saw it._

They braced the jaeger, digging their heels into the ocean floor, and raised their fists. The kaiju burst up at them, a wolf-like creature with scales instead of fur and eight huge, horrible eyes. Its claws aimed to sink into their metal frame but they punched back, sending it stumbling away as it roared in anger. 

“You said this was a cat II?” D’Artagnan drawled. “I’ve seen bigger salmon!” The pilots jumped forward and aimed to crush the kaiju under their weight. It snarled and grabbed them, catching the jaeger around the waist and threw them like a rag doll. 

Redhawk went rolling in the water. They both struggled to regain their balance but d’Artagnan recovered first and helped them up. Wolfgang pounced on them and they kicked at the kaiju, holding off its punches until it relented and backed away. 

_Plasma cannons? I’ll hold it off, you fire. Got it._ The exchange took seconds and they immediately launched into action.

Athos shouted for the plasma cannon to load and d’Artagnan slugged the kaiju in the head, a quick jab that nailed it right in the jaw. Wolfgang roared at them again, acidic spit landing on the jaeger and eating away at the first layer of metal. Redhawk jumped forward and they slammed their left fist into its head. The AI announced that the cannon was ready. They both screamed, sensing victory, high on endorphins.

Athos felt the cannon start to fire right as a second kaiju came out of the ocean and wrapped its tentacles around Redhawk’s head. 

“Neural handshake dropping to ninety six percent,” the AI warned. Athos didn’t hear it. He felt the intense pressure of being trapped, the kaiju locked in next to them, unable to get a clear sightline on where to hit. “Neural handshake dropping to ninety five percent.”

“Athos! You’re losing control. You need to focus.” It was d’Artagnan, but all Athos could see looking at him was the brown hair and those beautiful, intense and bright eyes. “No, do not pull us out. I repeat, do not pull us out. We can do this,” he was saying to someone, responding to a question that Athos hadn’t heard. D’Artagnan turned to look back at the kaiju and some part of Athos’ mind screamed at him to do the same. 

He turned and looked and saw the kaiju. It wasn’t Spaniard, it wasn’t the one who had killed Anne, but it was big and had tentacles and all Athos could hear was screaming. The noise echoed in his head, beating against his skull. It felt like he was moving through water, disconnected from d’Artagnan and the jaeger. Their movements weren’t jerky; the drift wasn’t that weak but it was getting there.

“Neural handshake dropping to ninety four percent. Ninety three percent.” There was more shouting from LOCCENT, except it wasn’t Thomas on the other end it was bright and sunny out and that wasn’t Anne, Anne was dead, that was d’Artagnan talking and _it’s going to be ok. Athos, it’s going to be ok. Just let me take control._

Athos followed d’Artagnan’s lead even as the effort made his limbs ache and his head pound. Their vision was narrowed down to the kaiju, fists flying and pulling at the tentacles that had wrapped around them. It was like fighting underwater, everything just a bit slower, everything blurred at the edges. 

He didn’t register the other plasma cannon loading until it was already firing, launching the entire clip right into the kaiju’s head. Athos watched its dead body, its mangled and split corpse, sink into the sea. “Neural handshake stabilizing at ninety five percent.” There was chatter from the other end of the com, d’Artagnan trying to say something to Athos or to Constance, but none of it really registered in Athos’ brain. 

Everything felt numb as the simulation ended, the inside of the jaeger replaced by the inside of the pod. Light rushed in as the front popped open. The techs waited, anxious, for Athos to open the door the rest of the way and let them help him out of the drivesuit. The pod disconnected from him and Athos was fully free, but he just stood there. He repeated what the therapist from his two mandatory sessions had told him to say. 

“When in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes, I alone beweep my outcast state.” His lips were chapped so he licked them, but the spit seemed stuck in his throat. “And… I… And…” 

It was a grounding technique, a way for Athos to focus his mind even as his thoughts flew wildly. He was in the drift simulation room having just completed a test with d’Artagnan. Constance was the one running it, the voice at the other end. Treville and who knew who else was watching and had just seen Athos’ quite public shutdown. 

A surge of almost rage, almost fear overcame Athos and he burst out of the pod. He pulled his helmet off and shoved it at the nearest technician, narrowing his eyes as he saw Treville walk over. D’Artagnan was already out of his suit, lingering by the pods to see what happened. Athos didn’t care. He saw one person and that was all that mattered.

“What was that?” He hissed, marching over to Treville. The technicians stumbled out of his way, reeds caught up in the whirlwind. For his credit, Treville seemed unsurprised and unconcerned as Athos drew nearer. Thankfully, Athos remembered himself before he threw a punch. “I know you ordered Constance to do that. I know it was you. Why?” 

“I needed to know how you would react if you were in a similar situation to the one with Spaniard.” Treville sighed and glanced between him and d’Artagnan. Athos could feel everyone’s eyes on him and his skin crawled. This had been a bad idea and he had known it from the start. All he could do was ensure that d’Artagnan wasn’t the one punished. It wouldn’t be fair. “Perhaps we should have this conversation elsewhere,” Treville suggested. 

Athos knew he should say yes but he didn’t want to. “No. It was uncalled for and unrealistic and you know that.” His voice was raised and he could tell that everyone was waiting for him to do something stupid or for Treville to tell him that he was out of line. “If you wanted to know how I would handle a situation like that, then you should have asked.” 

Treville raised an eyebrow. “And what would you have told me?” 

“I would have told you that I will never forget her, but my duty is always first. Just like then.” Athos spun on his heel and glared at the nearest technician. “Are you going to get my suit off or not?” The woman rushed to comply and Athos resolutely made sure his hands weren’t shaking. Out of the corners of his eyes he saw Constance talking to d’Artagnan. They noticed he was watching and d’Artagnan nodded. 

Athos couldn’t hear what he said to Constance, but suddenly he was making his way over. Treville watched in silence but seemed about to intercept d’Artagnan. Usually, after flashbacks or nightmares, Athos wanted to be alone. But if he couldn’t talk to the person who had been in his head during it? Well, then Athos couldn’t talk to anyone.

And he was tired. So, so, so tired of being alone and trying to carry this burden. If he hadn’t scared d’Artagnan off yet, well, Athos could tell him more. Right?

“How are you?” D’Artagnan asked, almost pushing someone out of his way as he tried to catch Athos’ eyes. When that failed, d’Artagnan blew out a heavy sigh. “I… I’m sorry. I haven’t really had to do this ever.” A pause. The last piece of Athos’ drivesuit came off and he pulled at his shirt, wishing that he could just leave and take a shower. “What they did was uncalled for but it doesn’t change my mind. I still want to drift with you.”

“Even if that could get you killed?” Athos asked, looking up at d’Artagnan. 

He shrugged. “A lot of things could get me killed. I signed up knowing what I was getting into.” D’Artagnan glanced around. Everyone was giving them a wide berth, as if growing too close would set Athos off. He couldn’t be too offended by that. It wasn’t completely off the mark. “Maybe not exactly what I was getting into. But close.” 

D’Artagnan ran a hand through his hair. It was sticking to his forehead and the back of his neck, but it still retained its gleam. Even after the stressful drift and even under the harsh florescent light, d’Artagnan glowed with life and energy. Athos had no doubt that he looked like a car had run him over or something just as unsavory. 

“Listen, Athos. I knew about you the moment I saw you. All of us -- all the recruits -- did. But being in your head… That was something I could never have seen. So what if this drift was a mess. We’ll try again and we’ll get it right. Besides, it was perfectly fine until they blindsided you with that second kaiju. That won’t happen in real life, you said it yourself.”

“I know what I said,” he snapped before he could think better of it. 

D’Artagnan gave him an unimpressed look and Athos remembered that none of his usual tricks, his grouchiness for one, would be enough to push him away. He knew everything, after all. So Athos didn’t apologize. Some part of him couldn’t help but think that d’Artagnan would know that Athos felt bad next time they drifted.

If they were allowed to. There was that unresolved issue. Would Treville stop them from getting into a jaeger over Athos’ shutdown? It was completely possible. He couldn’t remember what the precedent for this kind of a situation was. Hell, he didn’t even know if it existed. 

“Treville was right to do that. Not… not exactly that, but it was a good idea to test how I would react. We kept the drift together and we didn’t die. It wasn’t perfect but they can’t fault us enough not to give us a chance.” Athos licked his lips. His throat was sore, dry. “What did Constance say?” 

“Maybe you could ask her yourself,” she interrupted. Athos raised an eyebrow, pretending that he hadn’t noticed her approaching. D’Artagnan shifted so she could talk to both of them easier. “Treville is going to talk to his superiors but in my professional opinion? You two are the best team we have for the job. Unless they want to test another batch, but…” She shrugged. “It’s not certain. But it’s a chance.” She eyed Athos.

“Is there anything else?” He asked, not really in the mood to be chewed out by anyone. Now that his fate was, more or less, in someone else’s hands he wanted to go to the showers and stay there for a few days.

Constance shook her head. “Get yourselves cleaned up. And stay in touch. If anything changes, I’ll contact you. Or Treville will.” Athos and d’Artagnan thanked her and Constance walked off to talk to her techs, probably to fix whatever damage to the system they had managed to do. 

Left alone, with the possibility of being a real ranger team in the near future, Athos and d’Artagnan exchanged looks. Both of them were enough of a mess to warrant a shower, but something told Athos that they shouldn’t do that together. Of course d’Artagnan had to know that Athos found him attractive, but before there had been a certain level of professionalism between them.

Now? Not so much. Rangers could do whatever they wanted with whoever they wanted as long as it wasn’t illegal. The P.P.D.C had tried enforcing rules and regulations preventing relationships between drift partners or crew members. It hadn’t gone well.

“I’m going to shower. You can do whatever you want, but don’t follow me.” Athos knew he was being cold and that d’Artagnan didn’t deserve it, but he didn’t care. Without waiting for a reply, he walked off.

 

 

 

The shower was a welcome relief. Its cold spray usually sent shivers up and down Athos’ spine and had him reaching for the temperature control, but now he relished in it. The walls kept him enclosed but left plenty of space for him to feel comfortable enough to let his own walls down as he pressed his head against the tile. His head hurt and his limbs ached. 

He wanted to sleep. After this he could. At least, that was the idea. 

_“Olivier, listen to me,” she shouted. Her face was haloed by the sparks as they flew in their ruined jaeger, her hair flying about and giving her a wild appearance. Her eyes were clear and very much aware of what was about to happen, something Athos couldn’t pick up on. Or, perhaps, something he was in denial of._

Athos didn’t have enough energy to wash his hair but he did manage to lather himself up with soap. He let the water wash over him, brushing off the white studs until they were all swirling down the drain. It was getting to be too cold, cold like the spray of rain hitting his face as the hull of the jaeger was torn apart.

The rain had mixed with his blood, falling on his lips and making him taste iron and salt as he gasped for air. He didn’t remember much about the journey back to shore. It had taken him one hour, thirty eight minutes, and six seconds. Someone had counted and told him later. Athos didn’t know why he remembered, he just did. 

Apparently it had been the longest solo drift in history. Athos had never wanted to break that record.

_“You need to get back to LOCCENT.” She looked beautiful, even then, desperation beginning to cloud her eyes and shadow her face. Athos had always thought she looked beautiful. In the kwoon, after hours of training, with the sweat dripping down her face. In the mess, eating what they called food, laughing with their friends. In their bedroom, waiting for him._

_In the picture that had been chosen for her memorial, her smile pure and her eyes bright. They hadn’t been able to find a body. It was entirely possible that it had dissolved in the acidic blood of the kaiju or been ripped to shreds in its mouth._

_They had buried an empty coffin._

He was supposed to say something, Athos knew. Recite a poem. Ground himself. Remind himself that he was standing in the shower at the shatterdome, not in a jaeger out at sea. What were the words? He couldn’t remember. They danced right out of his mind, too far for him to grasp them.

Athos had never been very good at reaching for things. He had lost ahold of so much. What was he even doing with the P.P.D.C? He could build a live outside of the military. Thomas had left after Anne’s death and he was living somewhere in Quebec. Athos wasn’t sure where. Surely, though, he’d let his brother stay with him while he was trying to get his life back together?

The real question, of course, was what could Athos do that wasn’t fighting kaiju?

_“You need to stay alive,” she had said. She had always wanted him to do well, to succeed. It hadn’t been his idea, though, to join with the P.P.D.C. No, that was all her. She had lofty goals for the two of them and fame… That was her element. While Athos would have preferred a quiet life, or at least as quiet a one as a ranger could get, she had eaten it all up._

_All of the media attention had gone to her head and made her even more determined to do well. It had been Athos’ fault, his hesitation and lack of willpower to keep training, that killed her. In the end, it had been all his fault._

“Athos? Athos? Are you still in here?” That wasn’t her. It wasn’t even a woman. Athos blinked and fell back, falling onto the ground. A flash of pain ran up his spine and he winced. That would leave a mark. “Athos, is everything all right?” 

It took him a moment to realize that he had stopped disassociating and was back in the present. The person calling his name, asking him questions, was real and alive. It was too high to be Porthos but too fast to be Aramis. 

“Oh my god, do you need help?” Athos looked at the person who was talking and realized it was d’Artagnan. He was standing there in a tank top and dark green pants. Everything on him was soaking wet, from his boots to the hair on his face. From the change of clothes, it seemed like he had taken a shower.

Some part of Athos thought it was funny because now d’Artagnan was taking a second one. Another part wanted to cry. What ended up happening was a surge of embarrassment and anger at being seen like this. 

“Get out,” Athos growled, standing. He was fully nude but he couldn’t care less. Worse things had happened to him after all.

Neither seemed about to move, which just furthered Athos’ anger. D’Artagnan might have several inches on him, but Athos had been fighting for years. Push come to shove, he had no qualms about kicking d’Artagnan’s ass in order to be left alone.

“You’re bleeding and you’re blue. How long have you been in here?” D’Artagnan seemed to just notice the water temperature. He shivered. “It’s freezing. Athos, you need to get out and warm up or you’re going to get yourself sick.” 

It was almost touching how much he cared, but Athos wasn’t in the mood to be coddled or cared for. He lunged forward, aiming a punch towards d’Artagnan. It was horribly telegraphed and it took no effort for d’Artagnan to avoid it. 

“Leave me alone,” Athos spat, almost slipping on the tile and falling again. “I’m fine. I’m not hurt.” There was a bit of soreness in his lower body but that was nothing he wouldn’t recover from. The pause in conversation, though, gave him the opportunity to fully understand his situation.

He blinked rapidly, his body starting to shiver. Was the water really so bad? The shower had started off cold anyway. Maybe not as cold as it had gotten, but Athos could deny that he had been there for very long. Besides, this was none of d’Artagnan’s business. They had drifted once and it was likely they wouldn’t drift again --

“Athos, you’re going to freeze to death if you keep standing there. Come on, let’s get out of here and get you warmed up.” D’Artagnan waited for some reply but all he got was a glare. Athos knew that he should probably be embarrassed by the situation, and he was, but he ignored that and let the anger rule his head instead. At least this way it would be easier to look d’Artagnan in the eyes later.

Still, there was nothing pleasant about this. 

“Why don’t you leave?” Athos asked, though his tone of voice made it sound more like an order. D’Artagnan didn’t move. “Fine. I’ll get out of the damn shower if that’s what you want so damn much.” Athos reached back and turned off the water. Instantly the temperature seemed to drop several degrees, the air freezing against his bare skin. 

D’Artagnan made some kind of noise and glanced around, looking for a towel. Athos was about to tell him that he hadn’t brought one, he had kept it in his locker, when d’Artagnan threw one at his face. He wasn’t sure where it had come from but it seemed clean and it wasn’t wet so Athos used it. Everything was still cold even with the majority of the water off his body, but at least he had something to wrap around his waist now. 

Athos still didn’t leave the shower. He stood there on the wet tile, looking at d’Artagnan and challenging him to say something else. Neither of them spoke.

Eventually, Athos gave up waiting for a snide comment and pushed past d’Artagnan. He headed for the locker rooms, unsurprised when he was followed. Athos didn’t turn and acknowledge d’Artagnan though, just went over to his little locker and tried opening it. 

The combination proved tricky to enter, the wheel spinning too far or too fast or not enough. All of the numbers began swirling together, dancing in his vision. He shook his head to clear it, but the pounding just grew more pronounced and the only thing he heard was screaming. 

Athos tried again and again, this simple task that he had done hundreds of times without giving it so much as a second thought, but his hands were shaking and they were shriveled up from being wet for so long. 

He swore and lashed out in frustration, ignoring the stinging in his eyes. Athos’ fist connected with the metal and dented it even as he cried out in pain. His vision swam with red for a moment and he blinked past it. A few tears began to fall and he swore again, brushing them aside with his good hand. 

D’Artagnan gently took his wrist and spread his fingers, going slow as to not hurt the joints more. There were already ugly purple bruises forming, a marked contrast against Athos’ clammy skin. A few drops of water had a precarious balance on his fingertips and they dripped down as Athos felt himself relax, the surge of anger gone. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled. He wanted to push d’Artagnan away but he didn’t have the strength to do so. At least, he didn’t think he could. He was too tired to try. 

“For what?” D’Artagnan asked, letting go of Athos’ hand. Athos let out a bitter laugh and motioned around. No words came out but they didn’t need to; d’Artagnan understood. He sighed and shook his head. A soft wave of water sprinkled against Athos’ cheek and he realized that d’Artagnan was still in his wet clothes. 

“You need a towel,” Athos said. D’Artagnan shrugged and looked down as if just noticing his predicament. 

“I’ll be fine.” Athos gave him a look. D’Artagnan sighed again. “It looks like we’re both a bit of a mess,” he admitted, standing up and pulling his tank top off. He wrung it out and scowled. “I just did my wash too.” D’Artagnan looked at his pants. They were military issue and didn’t hold water the way cotton would, but they were still soaked. “As eager as you must be to see me without my pants, I’ll wait until I get back to my room,” d’Artagnan teased.

Athos rolled his eyes. He felt a bit better now that d’Artagnan wasn’t constantly asking if he needed help, if he was ok, if he needed anything done. If he wanted a goddamn babysitter or a therapist he would have one, but he didn’t and everyone else needed to start respecting that.

Then again, Athos did just have a public shutdown during a simulation, so perhaps they had a point.

Now that he felt more in control, Athos was able to open up his locker and pull out the change of clothes he always kept there. He stood and dressed quickly, not risking a look at d’Artagnan. Once everything was on, he felt much warmer and almost like a human being again. The noise in his head was softer, not a dull roar but more of an annoying buzz. 

It was the fastest he had ever recovered from a spiral and he had done so without punching anything. Well, almost anything. Still, Athos was surprised and not sure how. D’Artagnan, of course, was the first reason that came to mind, but that didn’t make sense. He had interrupted the stream of thought, the sinking sensation that Athos always got as he drowned in memories, but others had done that before. 

There was more than one time when Porthos or Aramis had seen Athos in the shower, lost in the nightmares, and tried to pull him out. Those usually ended in one or more of them covered in bruises. Nothing permanent, nothing bad enough to warrant getting anyone else involved, but enough to know to be more careful next time. 

Because, well, there was always a next time. 

But none of them had ever been as successful as d’Artagnan. Athos wasn’t sure why and it… it didn’t infuriate him. It didn’t really bother him either. It surprised him. He wanted answers but he didn’t know how to get them. It was annoying because of d’Artagnan but none of Athos’ animosity was focused towards him.

His presence wasn’t even a bad thing. Usually Athos wanted to be left alone to wallow, but now… As long as he didn’t try to talk about what he had seen, d’Artagnan could stay. 

“I’m glad you feel that way,” d’Artagnan replied with a twitch of his lips. Athos flushed, realizing he had spoken aloud. “If you want to talk about it, you will. But otherwise I can do whatever you need. We’re co-pilots now. We have to stick together.” 

“We’re almost co-pilots. I can say that you’re too annoying and that I refuse to drift with you ever again.” D’Artagnan laughed and Athos felt himself smile. It was a nice laugh, one that came from the heart and warmed the soul. There wasn’t a lot of laughter in the shatterdome. Not that kind at least.

“So is that really how you feel? I wouldn’t have guessed that from our drift,” d’Artagnan teased. Athos raised an eyebrow, sensing what he was getting himself into and not doing anything to stop it. He had made so many bad decisions in his life, what was one more? 

“And what, pray tell, would you have guessed from our drift?” Athos questioned. D’Artagnan twitched and shifted. At some point he had sat back down so now they were across from each other on the uncomfortable steel bench. He slouched a bit but Athos had perfect posture, so for once they were at eye-level.

Athos decided that he really liked d’Artagnan’s eyes. He could appreciate them for their outward beauty but also admire them for the fire and passion that burned behind them. It was quite clear, even at a glance, how _much_ d’Artagnan felt. Their drift was a contradiction in many ways; d’Artagnan seemed to shut down and shut off his emotions, pushing them aside in favor of living in the present, but outside of the drift? Then d’Artagnan was the opposite. He burned with life.

For so long, Athos had barely had enough energy to get out of bed and eat. Sometimes he didn’t even do that. He had turned to drink and almost killed himself. The only reason he was still alive was because Aramis and Porthos had stumbled upon him passed out in a corridor. After a brutal nine months of therapy and forced sobriety, Athos had been faced with the choice of sticking to the straight and narrow or finding a new place to live and work.

He had stayed with the P.P.D.C. He didn’t love it, not usually, and he never went a week without a nightmare, but he wasn’t dead. No, he wasn’t dead and he wasn’t drunk. Even if he wasn’t thriving he was surviving and that, for the longest time, had been enough. 

But now, for the first time in a long time, Athos wanted something. He wanted someone.

“I would have said that you found me roguishly attractive,” d’Artagnan said, leaning closer. He shrugged. “For a younger man.” There was a small smile on his face. Athos rolled his eyes. D’Artagnan must have taken that as a compliment because he laughed. “How old are you anyway?”

“Thirty eight. You’re twenty six.” Athos wondered if he should stop. He didn’t. “I haven’t been with anyone since my wife died and I still get nightmares about her. Still think this is a good idea?” There was a moment of silence. D’Artagnan swallowed. 

“And what am I getting into?” 

“Don’t play coy. It doesn’t suit you.” There was a pause, a moment of hesitation from both of them. The situation seemed to sharpen and Athos realized what was happening. He shifted away, uncomfortable. “I am not going to get involved with you, d’Artagnan. It would be unprofessional and inappropriate of me.”

“In what way? People are in relationships and drift all the time. If you aren’t family, you’re having sex. That’s how it works,” d’Artagnan argued. He wasn’t entirely wrong but Athos didn’t care. 

He stood and threw his towel at d’Artagnan. “Unless you want people to think you only got the job by seducing me, you’ll wait.” 

The reply came instantly. 

“So that’s why I got a second chance? Because you wanted to get laid? I guess you’re having seconds thoughts now.” D’Artagnan sneered and stood. He loomed over Athos. The lights were suddenly harsh against his skin, giving him a cold gleam. Every individual waterdrop shone. “Forget it, Athos, I’d rather be a janitor than drift with someone like that.”

They both knew that d’Artagnan had gotten his chance because he was a fantastic candidate who just needed someone to drift with. There were cases of people getting boosts because of favors or money, but when it came down to it that just wasn’t enough to form the base for any kind of relationship, not to mention a drift compatible one. Besides, d’Artagnan had been in Athos’ head. There had been attraction, certainly, but nothing like that. 

Nothing less than physical attraction, a draw to the passion and energy that d’Artagnan possessed, and nothing more.

Still, there was real anger in d’Artagnan’s voice at the idea, the implication that his honor could be touched upon. Athos couldn’t say he was surprised. There wasn’t much that d’Artagnan had left from his father. An old book, a broken watch, a handful of memories. His honor and drive and reputation? That was something d’Artagnan’s father had cultivated and it was something he would not ruin or let anyone else besmirch. 

Athos sighed. “That was unfair of me. I apologize. But it’s what others would think.” He stood in as unthreatening a way as possible. His hair was still damp, curled at the ends. “You are attractive, d’Artagnan, for many reasons. But you must realize that I cannot… I’m not ready for a relationship. It’s doubtful I ever will be.”

He turned and picked his towel up from the floor. “I will see you tomorrow. I… I do hope that we can drift together again. You deserve a chance to do something with your life.” Thinking that was that, Athos started to leave. He was not so wrapped up in his own thoughts, though, that he missed the tell-tale sounds of d’Artagnan taking several steps forward, chasing Athos.

Bracing himself for further argument, Athos turned around. He didn’t expect d’Artagnan to grab him and kiss him, their lips mashing together. It wasn’t romantic and it wasn’t even pretty. Athos didn’t know if he wanted to respond, and d’Artagnan had little experience. Their noses hit and when they pulled apart there was no peace to linger over them. 

“What the hell was that?” Athos asked, backing away out of surprise. D’Artagnan misread it and held his hands up in surrender, though there was a definite look of fear in his eyes. Of what, Athos wasn’t sure. He didn’t quite think it mattered. “You do not kiss someone without -- I am twelve years -- That was uncalled for and unwelcome.” There was something else on the tip of his tongue. It was important, Athos knew, to tell d’Artagnan. But he didn’t know what it was.

Unable to find the words he wanted to say, Athos barged out of the locker room. He reached his quarters and threw himself onto the bed, kicking his shoes off and staring up at his ceiling. It wasn’t rage that coiled through him, nor was it sorrow. Rather, a sense of unease seemed to twist and turn in his chest. 

He let out a heavy sigh and rolled over onto his side. Later, he would apologize to d’Artagnan and admit that he had reacted poorly. D’Artagnan would reply saying that there was no need to apologize, that he had been the one out of line for kissing Athos without getting consent. The two of them would hesitate, the real reason behind Athos’ response kept not a secret but an ignored truth thanks to the drift. 

There would be things to talk about and boundaries to be established, and Athos couldn’t help but feel that eventually he would agree to attempt a romantic relationship with d’Artagnan. After all, he was so similar to Anne it almost hurt. 

But that was the problem, after all. Athos couldn’t engage in anything with someone, not while the spectre of his dead wife still hung over him, following his footsteps as a second shadow. It wouldn’t be fair to anyone involved, not d’Artagnan and not Athos. So until the day when Athos could decidedly say he wasn’t a mess, that he could be enough for d’Artagnan, then nothing would happen between them.

With that decided, Athos closed his eyes and did his damndest job to sleep. It wasn’t yet noon but he was tired and he deserved a nap. 

One hour later, he was summoned to Treville’s office. Athos almost changed into something nicer but he didn’t have the energy and, well, it wasn’t like what he wore would affect what the decision was. 

With that in mind, Athos pulled on another shirt because it was too cold to walk around the shatterdome in one layer and put on shoes. Then he realized that he was about to go into a meeting with Treville wearing a pair of black sweatpants and a t-shirt. He decided that, as much as he disliked the world at times and pretended not to care about anything, it really wouldn’t be a good idea to do that. 

So Athos was a bit late, but he was presentable at least.

He wasn’t at all surprised that d’Artagnan was there before him. They exchanged nods but this was not the place or time to talk about what had happened earlier. And, quite frankly, Athos was not prepared for that conversation just yet.

Treville didn’t bother running in verbal circles or anything like that. Athos had always respected that about him. They had the same amount of patience for small talk and social niceties: none.

“I just had a meeting with the council and, while this is a highly irregular situation, they have approved your promotion. Congratulations, you two, on being made pilots.” Treville handed them the official bars that would go on their formal uniforms, bars that Athos had long since resolved to never owning again. 

Getting to hold them and knowing that they were his brought up a spring of emotion and Athos realized, mildly frightened but mostly just embarrassed, that he was crying a little. No one said anything, not even as Treville looked right at him and asked if they had any questions. D’Artagnan was the one to reply first, though Athos does have several.

“What jaeger are we piloting?” Treville must have been expecting that, because he pulled out two manilla folders and slid them over to the two rangers. “The mark V? Isn’t that still in testing?” D’Artagnan asked.

“It’s going to be ready in a week.” Treville adjusted his gaze so he was focused on both of them. “I hope you understand when I saw that I hope the both of you are as well.” 

“We will be,” Athos replied immediately. He glanced at d’Artagnan. _We have to be._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't be Athos or d'Artagnan, kids.
> 
> As usual, commissions and requests are open at my tumblr [here](http://thepoetofjustice.tumblr.com/ask) :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you will notice a few things if you take a close enough look. First, the number of chapters has been increased. I felt bad sitting on this section for so long that I decided to just publish what I have and get the rest done soon. 
> 
> Second, I have 'completed' the collection of d'Artagnan/Athos stories. Right now I'm trying to focus on my original works as well as a rather massive Marvel story. I am also about to start college again and I'll have more responsibilities and therefore less time to write. Unfortunately that means I have to lessen the number of commitments I have somewhere and fanfic is what I have decided to cut. 
> 
> I still love the ship and if you want to send me prompts on tumblr I'll answer them with short drabbles, but I probably won't write full-on stories for them -- or at least not as regularly. Thank you for everyone who has been following me since the beginning, it really does mean a lot and I'll miss seeing your reviews. And who knows, I might publish a few things every now and again for this fandom. (I certainly still have a lot of ideas) 
> 
> Thank you <3

Somehow, Aramis knew before anyone else did. Athos suspected that he had spoken with Constance, but even that was mildly impressive considering how busy she was. Regardless, he was the first to come up to him and d’Artagnan as they entered the mess.

“Congratulations,” Aramis said with a genuine smile on his face. “You two are going to be great pilots.” He clasped d’Artagnan’s shoulder and stared him straight in the eyes. “Better keep Athos in line, ok? Who knows what wild and crazy plans he has in mind.” Athos rolled his eyes; it took d’Artagnan a moment to realize that Aramis was joking.

“I’ll do my best, but no guarantees. I’ve been in his head once and I already know it’s going to be difficult.” Athos snorted, though part of him was glad that d’Artagnan was already relaxing enough to joke around. Considering the rangers who were stationed at the shatterdome, he’d need to be able to handle being the butt of a joke. 

“I’m going to get food,” Athos interrupted, “But if you two want to continue chatting then don’t mind me.” He walked off, fully expecting d’Artagnan to follow him, so it was a surprise when he turned around and couldn’t see him anywhere. A surge of irrational panic washed over Athos. There was no chance something could have happened to him, not here, but was he avoiding Athos? Did d’Artagnan think Athos was a scumbag who was using him? 

But no, there he was, pulled aside by Aramis. The two were talking softly and the mess was far too loud for Athos to hear them. He had never been good at reading lips so he didn’t even try, just sighed and went in line for the day’s offerings. 

As soon as he stood there, a familiar voice spoke out. “I heard you have been given another jaeger.” Athos definitely did not jump, startled, as he turned to look at Samara. “Do I congratulate you or would you prefer my honest opinion?” She asked. The two of them weren’t very close but they knew each other through Porthos, who apparently had trained in the same base she was stationed at for a while.

Still, Athos knew she always gave reliable and well thought-out advice. Samara was good friends with Constance and the two were known throughout the shatterdome as the ones to go to if you had a problem. 

So he nodded, not entirely sure what to expect. 

“I think you aren’t ready to be in a jaeger until you stop denying how you feel.” Samara turned her head so she was looking past Athos and he realized the line was moving. He shuffled down it, mostly wondering what she meant. There was no way that she, or anyone for that matter, knew about what had happened between him and d’Artagnan. Right? “You can say that you’re fine and act like it, but that doesn’t make it true.” _Oh._ That made much more sense.

“Of course I’m not fine,” Athos replied. “Everyone and their dog must know that.” Samara gave him a look that he couldn’t quite read. 

“Then why are you drifting? If you aren’t able to protect yourself, how can the world expect you to protect us?” It was a good question but not one Athos was prepared to answer. Samara seemed to understand that because she gave him a sad smile and patted him on the arm. “It’s complicated, I know. But when you are in a jaeger, you cannot think just for yourself.”

“I know that,” Athos snapped. He felt bad but Samara didn’t seem offended. She just raised an eyebrow at him. “I will not put anyone in danger, all right? I wouldn’t be doing this if I thought I couldn’t do it.”

“You think that, yet you continually torture yourself over the past. If those are the strongest memories you have in a jaeger, then perhaps you should not be in one.” Samara gave him an apologetic smile. “Porthos talks about you often. He cares for you. We all do. It would help if you remembered that.” 

He supposed she had a point. Athos knew that it was dangerous for him to still drift, to fight kaiju, in the state he was in. His mind was too quick to draw comparisons between that night and the present. If he could dissociate in the shower, what would stop him from doing the same in a jaeger? 

Athos realized Samara was looking at him, waiting for a reply. He sighed and moved down the line some more, putting off replying as he got his food. It looked like it was supposed to be potatoes and some kind of meat. He hadn’t eaten breakfast and his stomach rumbled, but the sight in front of him wasn’t particularly appetizing either. Still, it wouldn’t do to starve himself so he just got himself an extra helping of peas. Those, at least, looked real.

“There aren’t any other pilots,” Athos finally said, turning out of the line and heading for his usual table. Samara followed, apparently intent on eating with him and the other rangers instead of her fellow engineers. “If there was someone better qualified who could drift with d’Artagnan, I would let them.”

“Really? Because my understanding was that two pilots needed to be inseparable.” Caught by her words, Athos just huffed and walked a little faster. Samara followed but there was no more time for that conversation. The table was oddly empty, only Porthos there, but Athos didn’t want to continue talking about his mental state with anyone, let alone someone as perceptive and insatiable as Samara. 

Porthos stood, grin etched on his face as he pulled Athos into a bone crushing hug. “Congratulations, my friend. I knew you would get into a jaeger again.” They all sat down and Athos picked at his food as Porthos asked questions. He wanted to know about d’Artagnan, of course, but also about what Treville thought about the whole ordeal. 

“He wasn’t happy but it isn’t like he can turn away two pilots,” Athos admitted. Porthos shrugged and pointed at him.

“You were one of the best in the business back in the day. It’s only right that you return.” Porthos looked over Athos’ shoulder and brightened. It didn’t take a genius to realize that Aramis was back. Then it shifted. “You must be d’Artagnan,” Porthos greeted, the expression on his face much more apt for meeting a new coworker than it had been. “I feel like we’ve met before.”

“We have,” d’Artagnan replied, sliding in next to Athos while Aramis went to his place by Porthos’ side. “When you two were testing, I drifted with you both. We weren’t compatible, obviously.” Aramis chuckled and even Athos had to smile a bit at that.

“Well I can’t say that I regret that,” Porthos admitted. “Otherwise I never would have met Aramis.” There was a short lull in the conversation. “Oh, have you met Samara? She’s one of the top engineers.” D’Artagnan turned to look and Athos gestured to his other side. He was stuck between Samara and d’Artagnan but it wasn’t nearly as bad as it could have been. At least Charon and Flea were not there to interrogate anyone.

Samara extended a hand and d’Artagnan took it, shaking it eagler. “Pleasure to meet you. Are you at all involved with our jaeger…?” He asked. Samara shook her head.

“Unfortunately not. I was involved with the design of Raging Bull and Miracle Worker, but your jaeger is a mystery to me.” There was a gleam in her eyes that Athos recognized. 

It meant she was either about to trap d’Artagnan in a game of wills and words or she had perfectly innocent questions that would give her information to defeat someone else on a later date. She loved knowledge and Athos had never met someone who read as much as she did, and the only person who knew more about the going-ons in the shatterdome was Constance. “What can you tell me about your jaeger? I heard it’s the first Canadian mark V?” 

“Seventy five meters tall, almost two tons and made of a titanium-steel alloy. It has fifteen chest-mounted cannons with one K-Stunner warhead each and retractable wrist blades that cut and cauterize wounds immediately.” D’Artagnan blushed, ducking his head and pushing his potatoes around. “I read the dossier,” he mumbled. Athos knocked shoulders with him. “What?”

“It’s seventy six meters tall,” Athos corrected. D’Artagnan rolled his eyes even as Porthos and Aramis let out matching chuckles. The two had been drifting together for years and it was apparent in the way they moved and acted; after enough time, rangers adopted each other’s mannerisms and could supposedly even communicate mentally outside the drift. Athos thought most of the rumors and speculation were just that, but he did see why people would think so.

“They haven’t named it yet, though. I suppose they’re waiting on us for that,” d’Artagnan continued. “Do you have any ideas?” Athos shrugged. He really didn’t care about his callsign as much as some people did. 

“Anne named our jaeger. I suppose if you wish to do so with this one, I will have no objection.” D’Artagnan seemed fine with that but Aramis scoffed. There was a look of mostly mock horror on his face.

“Athos, my friend, you cannot expect dear d’Artagnan to do that all by himself. What if he picks something you hate?” 

“I really doubt he would,” Athos replied, “But if I really disliked it then I would speak up.” Aramis sighed.

“That’s not the point. It’s your jaeger. Both of yours. One person can’t be expected to name it alone. That wouldn’t be right.” Athos wondered who had come up with Raging Bull’s name. It sounded like something Porthos would think of but it could just as easily be influenced by its fighting style. One of its techniques was to charge the kaiju in question and stab it with the shoulder- and head-mounted spikes. Not the most elegant, perhaps, but it got the job done.

Besides, Aramis and Porthos were still some of the best pilots, even if they weren’t as popular as the American or Chinese teams. Canada was always getting overlooked, after all. 

“Didn’t you change your jaeger’s name?” Samara asked, sounding as innocent as snow. Aramis blushed as d’Artagnan laughed, remaining silent in hopes of seeing this play out. “I remember quite clearly that you named your jaeger Longshot at first, but after Killjoy attacked and ruined your targeting systems you killed it by ramming it repeatedly.” She made a face. “Like in American football.” 

“I knew my time in the States would become useful someday,” Porthos replied with a grin. He had studied and trained in Texas for several years and almost went through the citizenship process in order to get a shot at piloting an American jaeger. The Canadian program had snapped him up just in time. 

Of course, what that really meant was that Treville had thrown enough of his weight around as a former pilot and the only Canadian marshall to get a talent like Porthos back where he belonged. No one really blamed him and it made sense. Imaging Porthos anywhere else was ridiculous at this point. 

“Longshot was an excellent name,” Aramis declared, not acknowledging Samara’s point at all. “But sniper jaegers have too many weaknesses out in the field.” He turned to d’Artagnan. “You’ll remember that Mariposa Rosa was killed two years ago; she was the last dedicated long-ranged jaeger. The P.P.D.C decided to decommission the rest and get those pilots in different jaegers after she died.” 

“Of course Raging Bull is just a modified version of Longshot, but there’s enough of a difference that we renamed her,” Porthos added. D’Artagnan nodded, obviously aware of what they were talking about. Athos wasn’t surprised. 

Anyone with access to the internet these days knew what was going on with the P.P.D.C, more or less. It was the latest celebrity gossip but with much more drama and the added benefit of focusing on people who saved the world on a daily basis.

Much more interesting than the Kardashians. 

“My point still stands,” Aramis told them. “You two need to agree on a name or else it won’t be your jaeger.” He patted Porthos on the shoulder. “Tell them that they should trust me.” 

“Why don’t you tell us yourself?” D’Artagnan asked. Athos chuckled, drawing attention to himself. With his friends and in this situation, it was not unwelcome. 

“Because he expects that I have already told you never to trust anything that comes out of Aramis mouth. Which is very true; he is clever as a fish and twice as slippery.” He also was one of the most loyal and kind-hearted people that Athos had ever known, but there was no chance of him saying that aloud. Aramis didn’t need more feeding his ego. “Porthos, however, can only lie when he’s playing a game of cards. Otherwise he’s an easy read.” 

“I feel like I should be offended,” Porthos cut in. Athos shrugged and finished off his food. Now that his stomach was full, he was glad he had eaten. Besides, talking about normal, casual things among friends was helping him feel a little more human and less of a mess. “Besides, I always beat you in cards.” 

“You are proving my point,” Athos said. He stood and adjusted his jacket. It was getting chilly; soon it would start to snow and the ocean would freeze up for a few miles. The kaiju would still attack but it would be harder for the jaegers to get out to them. During the winter, the Canadian shatterdome operated more as backup for Anchorage or the Russians than by themselves. It was just how things worked. 

“Where are you going?” D’Artagnan asked. He looked like he was about to join Athos even though most of his food was still untouched.

“Nothing that concerns you,” Athos replied, voice a little cold. “Finish eating. We don’t have anything to do until our jaeger gets here but that doesn’t mean you can starve yourself.” He squeezed d’Artagnan’s shoulder but dropped his hand almost immediately. “Don’t play cards with Porthos, don’t listen to anything Aramis says, and assume that Samara knows what she’s talking about.” 

With that, he left.

 

 

 

Days passed. He still managed to avoid talking to d’Artagnan about what had happened, though it was getting more and more difficult as they were expected to spend more and more time together. Constance had made them drift together several more times and each time they fought different kaijus in different jaegers. It was enough to give Athos a permanent, pounding headache but he didn’t dare complain or mention it to anyone. 

D’Artagnan knew, of course. He didn’t say anything and for that Athos was thankful. It wasn’t enough to get them pulled from the roster, but they didn’t need more against them. Treville wasn’t the only one watching their simulator scores. 

Yet they didn’t talk about the kiss. Even in the drift, in the few moments before d’Artagnan’s hyper-focus kicked in, they didn’t discuss any of the things they needed. 

To Athos, everything was simple. He was not ready for a relationship and he would not be ready for some time. Until that time came, he would not engage in a romantic or physical relationship with d’Artagnan on any level. To do so would be unfair to Anne, unfair to d’Artagnan, and unfair to Athos. The last part was less important but, well, it still was there and Athos acknowledged that. 

Still, it wasn’t like d’Artagnan didn’t try to get them to talk about it. Athos was just very used to avoiding difficult conversations and he knew the shatterdome much better than d’Artagnan did. It was a simple enough matter to go to the kwoon at strange times, to sit in the mess only when someone else was there, to go down different hallways and slip into his room without d’Artagnan stopping him.

Some part of Athos felt bad, but for the most part he was convinced he was doing this for d’Artagnan’s benefit. The man was young. Talented, certainly, but he was still young and he didn’t realize that what they had was perfectly fine for the drift.

At least, it was usually fine. 

Constance had run them through many simulations and they never reached that dream one hundred percent, always faltering at ninety eight percent. Sometimes, if Athos’ brain was telling him it was raining or if they fought against a kaiju with tentacles or a beak, their drift would drop to ninety six or ninety five. But it was not enough to warrant being pulled from the project and it was not enough to bring to Treville’s attention.

At least, that was what Constance said. For that, Athos was thankful. He was handling things himself and he was doing fine.

Mostly. He was mostly fine.

He still didn’t want to talk about the kiss. 

In the end, it took outside interference for Athos to get his head out of the ground. Aramis invited him down to the kwoon to spar a bit. That in of itself was normal. Porthos was too powerful for anyone to be much of a challenge in hand-to-hand combat and everyone knew that it was almost impossible for Aramis and Porthos to get their hands on one another without it turning into something else. 

What was not normal was for the kwoon to be almost entirely empty on a Thursday afternoon, save for a familiar figure standing on the mat. D’Artagnan was wrapping his hands, back to Athos, and if not for the noise the doors made then Athos would have considered leaving and resigning himself to enduring Aramis’ complaints.

But d’Artagnan turned around, saw him, and frowned. Athos sighed and walked over, dropping his jacket to the ground. He didn’t bother to fold it. 

The two stood in uneasy silence for several moments. D’Artagnan had paused in his movements and it was clear he had not been there long. Athos sighed again and walked over, motioning for d’Artagnan to hold out his hands. There was a look of confusion on his face, but d’Artagnan did as he was told. Still silent, Athos finished wrapping d’Artagnan’s hands before taking the tape and doing the same with his own. 

Then he stood back, leaving a few meters between them. Athos raised his hands and nodded at d’Artagnan. The message was received and, after a slight hesitation, d’Artagnan attacked. 

He aimed a swift punch at Athos’ side, only to redirect it towards his head. Athos was able to block it and kneeed d’Artagnan in the stomach. Without pause, d’Artagnan grabbed the leg and flipped Athos onto his back. Athos lashed out with his feet and forced d’Artagnan away, giving himself time to stand before d’Artagnan was back on the offensive. 

D’Artagnan was able to slam his fist into Athos’ side before getting tackled to the ground. Athos pinned him, legs bracketing d’Artagnan’s hips, but the younger man just rolled and forced Athos off. A sharp kick made Athos see stars for a moment but d’Artagnan didn’t let up, taking his turn to trap Athos against the mat. 

Athos could have gotten up, broken the hold within a few seconds, and keep them fighting. They both knew it. But he didn’t so much as sit up. He lay against the mat, breathing too heavily, looking up into d’Artagnan’s brown eyes. 

“We need to talk,” d’Artagnan said. Athos swallowed, forcing himself to focus. 

“Well then, talk,” he replied. 

D’Artagnan made no move to let Athos up. Despite himself, Athos felt his heart speed up even more. His pulse was already elevated from the short fight and his skin was starting to grow cold as the chill in the air froze the sweat that had formed. A drop fell off of d’Artagnan’s nose and hit Athos on the chest. Neither of them twitched. 

“If you don’t want to be my… if you don’t want to be involved together, that’s fine.” D’Artagnan licked his lips. Athos could have cried. He had absolutely nothing against being physically involved with someone, but he knew it wouldn’t stop there. They had been in each other’s head and that was more than enough for Athos to know that d’Artagnan couldn’t do casual relationships.

So no, it wasn’t that Athos thought d’Artagnan was unattractive or even a bad person. That was most definitely not the problem.

“But you’re letting it affect our Drift and that’s something I can’t let pass,” d’Artagnan continued. Athos arched an eyebrow.

“Excuse me?” Athos shifted and made to get up, but d’Artagnan tensed and he stopped. “Am I not allowed to move?” Athos asked. 

“Not if you’re going to just leave.” D’Artagnan had a fair point but that didn’t stop Athos from letting out an exasperated sigh. 

“If I promise not to leave, will you let me up?” D’Artagnan nodded and got off of Athos. He didn’t offer any assistance as Athos stood, stretching and wincing as his back made a rather disturbing noise. He’d have to get someone to look at it later. Well, sooner rather than later if he was smart about it, but Athos had never been known for good self-care habits. 

D’Artagnan moved back towards his things, which were situated in a neat little pile in the corner of the mat. There was a metal bottle standing there and he chugged down whatever was inside. Athos assumed it was water. Rangers were discouraged from drinking too heavily and d’Artagnan seemed too straight-laced to be a day drinker. That title had belonged to Athos for a while. 

That was one habit he was glad he had kicked. 

“Do you want to Drift with me?” D’Artagnan asked, turning back to face Athos. There was a look on his face that Athos couldn’t quite get a read on. He nodded. “Then why are you always avoiding me? We’ve hardly had three conversations together in the month and a half that we’ve been assigned to work together. I know more about Aramis and Porthos than I do about you and I’ve literally been in your head.” D’Artagnan sighed. “Listen, if you’re worried about your reputation, I can quit or request to be reassigned or something.”

“That won’t solve anything,” Athos pointed out. They had gotten into their jaeger several weeks ago and taken her for a test run outside. It had gone well but they still didn’t have a call sign. She was nameless, going by Five for the time being as she was the only mark V in Canada’s repertoire. 

Athos loved her. She was nothing like Milady de Winter but that made it easier pilot her. Five was sleek, faster than Raging Bull but more accurate than Longshot ever was. Miracle Worker, Flea and Charon’s jaeger, was just a hair taller and bulkier, but Five had two swords that extended from her wrists, each made of solid steel and capable of heating up so they cauterized any wounds, so Athos considered his jaeger better. 

“I have spent years trying to forget my past, d’Artagnan. Until I am able to do that then I will not be ready for…” Athos trailed off, not entirely sure what he was trying to say. D’Artagnan pursed his lips. Even though they hadn’t had many conversations, Athos recognized that as his _I want to say something but I won’t expression._

And, not for the first time, Athos didn’t think he was ready to hear whatever it was d’Artagnan wanted to say. 

“Make no mistakes, d’Artagnan. I can still pilot a jaeger. There is nothing preventing me from doing that. But I will not engage in any romantic relationships until I am in a better place.” Athos didn’t need to specify what he meant by that and d’Artagnan seemed to accept his explanation. At the very least, he relaxed and seemed less likely to yell. “You are incredibly talented. I don’t know why you couldn’t Drift with anyone else, but--”

“My memories,” d’Artagnan interrupted. Athos raised an eyebrow. “My father died and I wasn’t there to help. I… You know.” Yes, Athos did know. He knew how d’Artagnan had thrown himself into the program, how his dream to be a jaeger pilot had turned into an obsession. Athos could understand how that laser focus, that intense force of will, could make it difficult to find a match.

Those same qualities had made Athos and Anne a powerhouse among Canadian pilots after all. But that didn’t change anything and Athos knew it was dangerous to let his mind draw even more comparisons between his dead wife and his new partner. 

_Why are you doing this to yourself? You can be happy. Anne would want you to be happy,_ Athos’ mind hissed. He knew it was right. That didn’t make it any easier to admit he had been acting like an ass. Besides, sometimes Athos was just like that. If d’Artagnan couldn’t handle that, then maybe he was with the wrong co-pilot. 

“I apologize for being distant,” Athos muttered. He turned to leave the kwoon, stopping by his jacket and picking it up off the ground. “Tonight. If you are not already engaged. We should eat together.” Athos glanced back at d’Artagnan, who had a carefully guarded expression. “This is me attempting to be an actual copilot and not, well--”

“Not an asshole?” D’Artagnan was just being honest and Athos deserved it. So he didn’t argue, just shrugged. “I’ll see you tonight,” d’Artagnan added, almost as an afterthought. “Though one of us should tell Aramis he succeeded. I don’t want to know what his Plan B was if this didn’t work.” After years of friendship with Aramis, Athos was almost certain it involved illicity substances and no small amount of alcohol, but he spared d’Artagnan that detail. 

“I’ll tell him,” Athos replied. With that, he left the kwoon and went to his room, ignoring the need to shower in favor of fulfilling his urge to sleep. There was nothing else he needed to attend to, not yet at least, and there would be no harm in getting an extra hour or two of rest. Everyone else was always telling him to take care of himself, pamper himself a little even. 

_Look at you, actually listening to their advice,_ Athos’ mind told him. _Shut up,_ he replied. 

He threw his jacket over his chair and tugged his shoes off. During the fight he hadn’t taken his combat-issue boots off and neither had d’Artagnan. Frankly, the two of them were lucky that nothing had been broken or sprained. Even though they had only sparred for a short time, they were both trained well enough to cause serious damage if they weren’t being careful.

And, during those tense minutes, careful had been the last thought on Athos’ mind. He had been much more preoccupied with not getting his ass handed to him by someone several years his junior.

He rested against the pillow and stared up at the ceiling, silently praying to a god he didn’t believe in for sleep. Nothing came. There weren’t any flashbacks and he wasn’t anxious, he just… couldn’t sleep. Even though his limbs were heavy and his clothes soaked through with sweat, his eyes refused to slide shut and give his mind the blessed relief of a few moments of peace. 

_When in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes, I alone beweep my outcast state._ The words came to Athos’ mind without prompting, his instinctual habit kicking in. Athos sighed. Though they could be helpful grounding him, now he was starting to associate them with panic attacks and wanting to kill someone. That didn’t make the sonnet any less beautiful. Rather, it became bittersweet. 

“And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,” Athos muttered as he sat up, swinging his legs off the bed and going to his small bookshelf. The little thing was made out of scrap metal and Athos had made it himself. He had asked one of the engineers to teach him how to smelt things together and, taking it as a sign that Athos was getting better, Treville let him learn. 

The bookshelf was the only thing Athos had ever put together. It was rickety, liable to break if he put any more books on it, and crooked. He loved it and no number of sly comments from Aramis or jokes from Porthos would ever convince Athos to throw it out. They weren’t serious anyway. They knew how much it meant to Athos, to be able to wake up on the mornings when the world was dark and the rain heavy, the ache in his chest deep in his bones, the mere idea of getting up too painful for words, to feel all of that and yet look over and see something he had made.

To know that yes, he was a broken man who would never be able to move on from his past. But that did not mean he could not create something, even if that something was an honest-to-god shitty piece of furniture. 

He reached out and picked a well-worn book off the shelf. Muscle memory took over and he flipped to the twenty-ninth page. “And look upon myself, and curse my fate, wishing me like to one more rich in hope…” Athos found himself reading the sonnet, though he had memorized it five years ago. It had been one of the first coping mechanisms he picked up on, one of the few things he continued to do from therapy. 

It helped to repeat the lines over and over again because they focused his mind and pulled him out of his thoughts. At least, that was the point. Now, though, it seemed like the opposite was happening. He could just hear the alarm in his head, the sound of a soft female voice telling him that a kaiju was attacking.

There was a knock on his door and Athos looked up, startled out of his thoughts. The alarm continued to blare, alerting everyone in the shatterdome that a CAT III was on its way. 

He stood up, book abandoned on his bed, and opened the door. D’Artagnan was there.

“We’re getting deployed,” he breathed. Athos nodded. “Are you ready?” D’Artagnan really was asking if this would work, if they could do this without threatening the safety and lives of everyone in the shatterdome. 

Of everyone in North America. 

“Let’s go.”


End file.
